


Smoke and Mirrors

by lovethosehobbits (tree1110)



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-03
Updated: 2011-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-14 09:43:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 117,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tree1110/pseuds/lovethosehobbits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My first fic I ever wrote. I have a definite soft spot for this fic and still love it dearly. Frodo is recovering in Minas Tirith along with the last of the surviving members of the Fellowship. Multiple illnesses, some PG13+ memories and other mishaps plague the Ringbearer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Definitely AU This is a pure work of fiction. The characters or any of Middle Earths locals, territories or circumstances, are not mine. I make no money from this story, only enjoyment at the process of writing about my favorite characters in all the world. Medically Graphic Practices occur throughout the story as well as some disturbing dream sequences.

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter One 

Chapter One 

Intense pain. All he could feel was the pain. Like a knife in his neck as it traveled down his spine. The agony overcame him and he released a feral scream that seemed to take the last breath from his body. Hands. Voices. ORCS!! A figure towered over him speaking the dark language. He tried to pull away, but could do little except curl in on himself and hope that somehow, he would simply cease to be in the eyes of the foul creature. But as he pulled away, another agonized scream tore from his parched lips. The pain was a living breathing entity seemingly having a life of it's own, stabbing relentlessly along the back of his head, neck and back. He was sure that if he were to look back he would see a fell blade protruding from his spine. The orc loomed closer trying to uncurl his small frame, he screamed again and then all went black as he lost consciousness; paradise compared to the preceding moments.

"Frodo...Frodo, be at peace. I am a healer. My name is Saleth and I am going to bathe you to try and lower your fever. "The Ringbearer cringed in terror, his blue eyes impossibly wide and his face a canvas of torment and anguish. Saleth again tried to gather the small being into his arms, to straighten his legs and cool him with the scented cloths, but Frodo continued to fight him weakly. He keened a high wail before losing consciousness once more.

"How is he fairing, Saleth?" A husky voice inquired from behind the healer.

"He is in great pain and has a high fever, my King." Saleth bowed to his liege lord.

Aragorn dismissed the action with a wave of his hand. "What is the cause of his suffering? I know he has endured much, and carries many wounds but this seems extreme, even with the injuries he has already sustained," Aragorn asked, looking at his friend in concern. His hand went to Frodo's forehead, and drew back quickly. He looked with alarm at Saleth.  "Have you examined him thoroughly?" he asked.

"I have, my Lord. He is extremely undernourished and has numerous abrasions, including whip welts on his torso, an odd bite mark on the back of his neck, and then there's the missing ring finger. I have had a great deal of difficulty examining him. He fights me at every turn. He is delirious and thinks I am an orc."

Aragorn smiled grimly, "An orc."

"Yes, my Liege-- he has stated on numerous occasions to 'stay away and keep my filthy orc hands off of me'." Saleth grimaced.

"Let us re-examine him together while he is unconscious. We 'orcs' should stick together, after all" Aragorn gave a weak smile.

"As you wish, my Lord."

Aragorn and Saleth removed the covers and began examining the frail hobbit. Aragorn was again stricken at how thin his friend was. There were bruises and cuts covering most of his body. His large hairy feet were scored with deep slices on the pads that he had incurred while climbing the rock slope of Orodruin with Sam. Burn marks were on his legs and arms, all were slathered in salve and bandaged. His right hand was wrapped in a large wad of gauze and he had welt marks all along his back. Bruises in various hues of yellow and purple bore further testimony to the enemies treatment of this gentle creature. Aragorn was moved to tears as his eyes lit on each injury. Frodo had endured so much. Could he ever truly recover? If the physical injuries was a testament of the damage on the outside, what of the mental anguish that was sure to haunt him?

"My Leige, if this is too hard for you, I can continue the examination alone." Saleth spoke with concern for his new King. The King seemed almost overcome with what he was witnessing.

"No, he is the savior of all free peoples, I would be honored to succor his wounds, physically and mentally. We owe him so much," he whispered. "Let's see if we can look down his throat, then we'll examine his ears, and listen to his breathing and heart." Aragorn spoke in a more clinical manner.

"Yes, my Lord." Saleth placed his hands on either side of Frodo's small mouth and pried it open. Using a small wooden spoon they forced his tongue flat and tipped his head back a little.

"Hmm," said Aragorn. "I think we have found the main source of his fever...see, the infection, the white spots at the back of his throat? It is inflamed. I would apply a tincture--do you have any? We could do it before he awakens." Aragorn looked up at Saleth.

"Yes, my Lord--tincture of iodine." he reached for the bottle. Aragorn applied it to a small cloth pad and began painting the red and swollen throat.  "There, we must give him tea with the poppy extract, athelas and willow bark to ease the pain and stop the infection. Also it will induce sleep. But remember, he should receive a child's dose, perhaps less, due to his size" Aragorn instructed. Saleth knew these things, but it was obviously important for the King to take part in the healing of his friend, so he was not offended. The King was a gifted healer and Saleth was honored at his presence here with the halflings. "He should be immersed in tepid--not hot, not cold--baths every hour. We don't want the fever to rise any higher or he could have seizures and more delirium. You may have to restrain him," Aragorn murmured, stroking the damp curls back from Frodo's sweaty face.

"Yes, my Lord. But what of the teas and the tincture? He fights me so" Saleth lamented.

"The tincture must be applied every hour or so, the opiate and athelas should subdue him allowing you to work. What of the others?" he asked.

"Sam, Meriadoc and Peregrine are all resting ... they have their nightmares, but my staff are with them always and soothe them back to sleep. Their wounds are healing slowly. Once they awaken we can begin feeding them heavier broths and solid foods. We have been giving them cool water, and light broths but we have to sit them up to insure they do not choke." replied Saleth.

"Call for me anytime, day or night, if any of them should awaken or need me" replied Aragorn.

Saleth nodded, "Of course, my Liege."  Frodo groaned, twisting his body to lie on his side. He gasped at the unexpected stab in his back and head. Aragorn and Saleth turned quickly towards the sound.

"Saleth, do you have any of the teas we discussed on hand?"

"Yes, my Lord. I have hot water and can steep them quickly."

"Then do so, we must get him to drink more. And add honey...Frodo loves honey," Aragorn murmured. He turned back to his friend while Saleth began steeping the tea.  "Frodo...Frodo, can you hear me? It is Strider."  Frodo's face was screwed up in pain. He could hear the orc, one was so near he could *smell* him. Carefully he slit his eyes to see, hoping the creature wouldn't notice. The orc leaned down close to his face and smiled---Frodo's eyes flew open and he attempted to back away, eliciting a sharp pain that ran down his spine.

"Ahhhh" he screamed, "Stay away! Neither you nor your master will get anything from me," he gasped clutching for the ring at his chest.

"Frodo, you're delirious, the Ring has been destroyed you are safe in Minas Tirith surrounded by friends. No harm will ever come to you again." Deep concern etched the King's face. He reached out towards Frodo but was batted away with a feeble swat.

"Don't touch me. You want It for yourself, but you'll not have It, Dark Servant of Sauron! I will destroy It and myself if needs be," he shrieked.

"Saleth, now would be a good time for that tea!" yelled Aragorn.

"Your pardon, my King, here it is" Saleth hurriedly approached the bed.

"Lean him up against your chest and I will attempt to get him to drink the tea" said Aragorn to Saleth.  "Now Frodo, you are very ill. You must drink this tea. Will you do this for your King?" whispered Aragorn.

"King! You are no one's King. You are a mere minion to Sauron. I would die before I drank your foul drought," gasped Frodo. He was growing weaker but had a decidedly determined look in his eyes.

"The hard way, then" grimaced Aragorn. "Never fear, Saleth, I have had dealings with this stubborn hobbit before. You will need to hold him tightly--he is weak, but he has a strong force of will". Saleth moved up behind Frodo.

Frodo saw him approaching and tried to scoot away, but the bed was against a wall and soon he was cornered.  "Stayawaystayawaystayaway," he whimpered like a mantra. He tried to kick at Saleth but his legs would not cooperate, only moving sluggishly in the general direction of the would be 'predator'. His eyes darted back and forth between the two orcs. Saleth finally had him cornered and grabbed and wrapped his arms around the hobbit, pulling him to his chest. Frodo struggled weakly trying to bite Saleth's arms and hands but Saleth was stronger and quicker than Frodo and easily out-maneuvered him. He engulfed the hobbit, wrapping his legs around Frodo's and his arms pinning the hobbit's to his sides in a most undignified pose.

"No...no, no more. Please, don't make me. Please," Frodo begged. He was weakening and tears were rolling down his face, his eyes shining. Aragorn felt a fresh wave of pity as he looked at his friend, but did not let it deter him from his task.  The tea was cool enough now, he pried open Frodo's mouth and pinching both sides, quickly poured in a small amount of the medicine. Frodo's reaction was immediate, spraying it all back into Aragorn's face. A weak, but satisfied smile appeared on the hobbit's face.

"I can play that way too, my friend." said Aragorn wiping tea and spittle from his face. Again he moved on Frodo. He instructed Saleth to hold both of Frodo's hands in one of his larger ones and pinch Frodo's nose shut with the other. Saleth looked dubious, but did as he was told. Aragorn again forced open the hobbit's mouth, pouring in a portion of the tea and then quickly tilted Frodo's head slightly. The hobbit struggled vainly, his eyes going wide in panic, forcing him to swallow so that he could take a breath.  This continued until the cup was drained. All three were exhausted by the time one cup of tea had been forced down the hobbit.

"A strong foe" exclaimed Saleth.

"You have no idea" returned Aragorn.

Frodo had slipped into a glassy-eyed stare and was mumbling 'Sam, help me ...Sam...help...me' over and over to himself. Saleth released him and lay him back onto the pillows.

Aragorn turned to him, "Since I am covered in tea anyway, should we bathe him now?" He grinned.

Saleth, looking tired and defeated replied, "Yes, my Lord."  Frodo was gingerly placed in the bath of tepid water. His eyes were open but he was obviously wandering on another plain of existence. They submerged all of him save his face, and kept him in the bath, adding hot water as it cooled, until his fingers and toes were pruney. He was then swaddled in fluffy towels, dried and dressed in a clean hobbit sized nightshirt and laid on fresh sheets and pillows. He felt slightly cooler to Aragorn's trained hands and had finally slipped into a drugged sleep.

"Check on him often, get help to give him his medicines or restrain him. Let me know how the fever fairs at regular intervals and let us hope it is just a throat infection and nothing more," Aragorn said as he stood to leave.

Saleth bowed as Aragorn departed and turned to look at his other charges. Merry and Pippin were stirring and the healers were giving them water, tea and chamber pots as needed. Sam was still sleeping but a healer was holding him up, a soppy cloth of clean water slowly dropping onto his tongue. He swallowed reflexively as the water trickled down his throat. Saleth watched approvingly.  His gaze rested lastly on the Ringbearer, the high color of fever on his cheeks made him look as if he had fallen asleep in the Sun. He twisted and murmured in pain, but did not awaken. This will be a very long night, thought Saleth.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

He was trapped between a dream and a nightmare, being tormented in a small room by orcs and they were pouring a thick, pungent brew down his throat. He struggled; even going so far as to spit the mixture back into the face of the leader. He was surprised that he hadn't been beaten for this action and it seemed to only make the being more determined at giving him the gagging brew. Amidst these thoughts niggled a sliver of hope. He had dreamed he had heard and seen Aragorn, but not the Aragorn he had known. This Aragorn was regal; dressed in fine cloth and with him had been a soft-spoken servant with gentle hands. They had tended his wounds and bathed him in lavender scented water. Yet there was the pain burning and stabbing at him, making him aware of every nerve in his body. He tossed feverishly his movements quelled only by the stiffness of his neck and back. A sob escaped his lips and the vision of Aragorn and the servant was replaced with a familiar one of fire, smoke and the ever present ring swirling about him in a dark mist. It was just a trick of the ring, trapping him. Another lonely sob escaped his lips, his friends were not with him and Sam, oh Sam, where were you? How I need you, he thought. He had to somehow, make his escape to destroy the ring before it destroyed all he loved and held dear. He could feel its icy claws grasping and tearing at his soul making him weak with despair. How could he destroy the ring when it was now so much a part of his very being? He clenched his jaw --he would destroy the ring even if it meant his own doom

Saleth sat by Frodo's bedside weary beyond measure. They had repeatedly bathed him, applied the tincture, and dosed him with the medicinal teas. Still the Ringbearer's fever raged, his body spasmed with the pain. Heaving a sigh, Saleth called an orderly and sent for the King. When Aragorn arrived, Saleth recounted all that he had done to try to alleviate the pain and illness that plagued the ringbearer. Aragorn approached and knelt by Frodo's bedside. He reached out, placing his hands on either side of the hobbit's flushed face, and ran his hands down the thin neck and back, then back up again to the base of his head causing the small patient to moan.

I fear he has a sickness that is often deadly. I have seen it in children mostly, but it can happen with anyone. It starts with an infection and then moves into the brain causing pressure and acute pain." He turned towards the healer with a look of dread in his eyes. "There is no cure. It is called by my people 'brain fever' and most of its victims die after suffering delirium and an all-consuming agony. The infected usually die within a few short days...sometimes only hours," he finished in a choked voice.

"I too have had some experience with this malady. I have found that sometimes, strict bed rest, medicines for pain and fever, liquids and a constant vigil are sometimes successful. A most frustrating illness where the healer is helpless except to make the patient as comfortable as possible and hope he has the strength to overcome it”, sighed Saleth.

"This one has great strength. I would give him all of mine if I could. He will need physical strength as well, to overcome this. We must get some liquids and nourishment into him, as well as the medicinal teas," murmured Aragorn. Aragorn seemed lost in thought of how best to approach Frodo's treatment, and rose with a determined look on his face. "I will need a sturdy broth, slightly thicker than those typically fed to invalids. Do you have a funnel and small reed?"

"Of course, my Lord. We have many such devices to feed those who cannot, or will not, swallow. It is unpleasant at first, but serves well to give medicines and nourishment. Most are made of soft woods, some of leather or pond reeds," said Saleth

"Very well. Procure the necessary materials and we will try to rebuild his strength in whatever way we can," the King sighed. He glanced over at the other hobbits, and gasped. Merry and Pippin were clutching at each other, tears streaming down there faces. How foolish he felt, to discuss the probable death of their cousin in front of these two innocents.

"Has he come so far to be lost to us now? Can you do nothing to save him?" Merry's voice quavered.

"Please tell us...will he die?" whispered Pippin.

Aragorn quickly crossed to the hobbits and drew them close to him. "He may, my friends, but we must have faith and we shall fight this together. You must be strong for him, talk to him as he sleeps, and let him know he is not alone. You also need *your* strength and rest to help serve Frodo." Both hobbits looked up at the King and nodded quickly. Broth and bread were brought and they ate slowly, sniffling and watching their cousin. Then sleeping draughts were dispensed to ensure rest. Finally, they finished eating and drinking and Aragorn tucked each of his friends in, placing a hand lightly on each curly head as he watched their eyes slowly close in sleep. "I will return in 1 hour to start the procedure," said Aragorn.

"My Leige, I can do this, you need not bother yourself”, replied Saleth.

"It is no bother. I want to take care of this little one." His gaze settled on Frodo. "He is my dear friend whom we owe so much. Caring for him is the least we can do, and I do it gladly." Saleth bowed.

"As you wish, my Lord, all will be ready. Saleth arranged all the needed supplies along with the broth and teas on a clean cloth by Frodo's bedside. He was weary and needed rest. He thought to sit down for a moment while he waited for the King. He chose a chair in the corner of the room to continue his vigil and slowly his eyelids began to droop until finally he fell into a restless sleep. It would be something he would never forgive himself for.

Frodo slowly regained consciousness. He was groggy and his vision blurry. Trying not to turn his head, he cautiously allowed his eyes to roam about the room. There was a guard on duty sitting in a corner to the left of his bed. He had apparently, fallen asleep on his watch. Frodo carefully slipped his feet over the edge of the bed (what kind of orc would have covered him so, and placed him in a bed with such care? He wondered). He tried to stand but was overcome with a wave of dizziness and the same stabbing pain in his head, and sank to his knees. His whole head felt like it would explode. It was the foul brew they had forced on me, he thought. He was certain that this was what was causing his pain and the sickness he felt now. His stomach rolled, and he swallowed several times to squelch the rising nausea. He knelt there for some time trying to stay the combined effects of the brew, and then slowly looked around causing his head to swim and the room to pitch. He spied his cloak and scabbard along with Sting still lying within it, on a chair 4 or 5 feet away. (Why would an orc leave a prisoners sword within easy reach? he thought in confusion). Silent as only a hobbit could be he crept slowly towards the chair, trying to quell the vertigo and nausea. He risked a glance across the bed at the sleeping guard while reaching out for the cloak and blade. It fell with a clatter that seemed to reverberate through the room. Frodo gasped in surprise and ducked lower behind the bed. The guard's eyes snapped open and fell immediately on the empty bed.

"Frodo? Master Hobbit?" he called softly. He rose quickly, moved to go to the other side of the bed, and caught his breath. The Ringbearer was braced against the bed, his face and hair plastered to his head, his nightshirt soaked thru with sweat. His eyes were rimmed with red, and dark circles lay below them. He clutched at his chest, his small hand clasping the medallion the Lady Evenstar had placed around his neck. He clasped it so tightly that the edges had cut into the small hand, drawing blood that now dripped freely onto the dirty nightshirt. His whole body quivered and he licked at his dry and split lips. Saleth instinctively reached out to him to try to bring him back to bed. "Come, Master Holbytla, you are *so* very ill, let us get you bathed again and give you something cool to drink', murmured Saleth.

"Back...Do not touch me" rasped Frodo, as he back-crawled towards the corner of the room. Frodo, in his delirium, clasped the ring not the Lady Arwen's pendant. The Ring song he heard in his head combined with a rushing noise that seemed like thousands of people whispering. It was so loud, he wanted to cover his ears and block it out, but he refused to lower his guard. He was determined to make his escape. His hand was bundled with gauze and it was cumbersome to hold the sword but he grasped it just the same as he swung it towards the guard; the point, bare inches from Saleth's chest, as he knelt in front of Frodo. "Back...NOW, or I'll run you through”, Frodo cried. Saleth slowly rose and backed away, watching in horror as Frodo took the sword and sliced, none to gently, through the hand wrappings. Quickly he unraveled the hand and grasped the sword properly. He grimaced as he curled his fingers including the stub, around its hilt, but did not drop the sword. He slowly tried to stand, sliding from the floor up the wall. When this was complete, he stood awhile, his body trembling violently from weakness, pain, and fever. "Go over there," he rasped, pointing back across the bed towards the chair. Saleth slowly backed towards the chair and Frodo circled towards the door, panting and stumbling along the wall.

Saleth spoke in soothing tones about how he meant him no harm and only wished to help him, but Frodo would have none of it.

"Cease your talk, I have nothing more to say to you. I will not be held any longer. The Ring must be destroyed," he whispered. His throat was so dry, his tongue felt so thick that he couldn't swallow.

"Master Frodo, you have already destroyed the ring. That which you clasp so tightly is the pendant given to you by the great Lady Undomiel”, Saleth said softly. Saleth saw, for the barest flicker of a second, doubt in the Ringbearer's eyes.

"It is the One Ring and my mind... nay, my soul has been completely bent to Its will. There is no hope for me, but there is still hope for Middle Earth. I must go to the cracks of fire and throw it in, or die trying," he sobbed. Tears tracked down his face and he moaned as his soul and body were rent with the shear magnitude of his task and ultimately, his fate. He backed along the wall, legs quivering, into the corridor. Somehow, he had to get out and resume his climb up the mountain. Saleth slowly crossed the room and walked out into the corridor. His charge stood a mere arms span away from him, eyes glazed, leaning his face against the wall.

‘It is so cool,’ Frodo thought, ‘…so pleasant’. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the guard approaching, hands held up.

Saleth tried to look as passive as possible, hoping the Ringbearer would ebb enough that he would be able to carry him back to his bed. Frodo turned causing the corridor to blur and pitch violently. He felt his mouth fill with saliva and tried to quell the nausea unsuccessfully. With a gasp, a sudden fountain of vomit shot out of his throat. He moaned as black specks moved before his eyes. His mouth tasted of bile and bitter tea. Saleth made to catch the swaying ringbearer but a sudden spark lit the hobbit's eyes. A burst of adrenaline coursed through him. He grasped the slipping sword and stabbed at his attacker. Saleth cried out in pain and clutched at his wrist. A long deep cut lay open his left palm. Frodo backed clumsily away before he could be attacked again. Saleth's cry had alerted another healer who charged into the hall behind him and quickly caught the healer as he sat down hard. Frodo continued to move backwards, panting, and gasping, his body weakening in the aftermath of the rush of adrenaline until he bumped up against something strong and unyielding. He risked a glance over his shoulder, which elicited another stab of pain.

"Frodo, I was just coming to see how you were doing, my friend," smiled Faramir. The smile wavered as he took in the site of the bloody corridor, the wounded healer, and the total lack of recognition in the obviously sick hobbit's eyes. "Frodo? What has happened here?" He reached out to grasp the swaying hobbit. Frodo's sword was rimmed with bright blood, his right hand bleeding profusely yet still determinedly clutching the hilt. No trace of recognition could be found in the glazed blue eyes, only fear and revulsion.

"No, leave me be," he gasped, clenching his jaw tightly. He raised the small blade and stabbed the blade into the stunned Steward's thigh.

"FRODO! Agh!" cried Faramir falling backwards as he grasped at his leg. But Frodo was already moving unsteadily towards the open gate of the houses of healing, adrenaline once again spurring him on and out into the night.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

…the topmost wall shone out against the sky, glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver, tall and fair and shapely....built on seven levels, each delved into a hill and about each was set a wall and in each wall was set a gate...the gates were not set in a line...so the paved way that climbed towards the Citadel turned first this way,then that across the face of the hill...along lamp lit slopes that ran up to the seventh gate...and the Place of the Fountain before the feet of the White Tower..." Description of Minas Tirith and the entrance to he Citadel chapter 1, Return of the King.

Chapter 3

There was a brisk breeze blowing as Gandalf stood upon the seventh level and viewed those working on the fields of Pelennor. He had been uneasy tonight but was want to know what could be troubling him. Sauron was destroyed, his forces being gathered and destroyed as well. The fields of Pelennor were lit with large bonfires. Tiny figures dragged the enemy’s dead, stacking them. They had been instructed not to touch the bodies, but to roll them from wagons onto the burning pyres. The stench was overwhelming, even upon the Citadel, seven hundred feet above the field. Gandalf's reverie was cut short when a hand fell on his shoulder. He turned and smiled at the newly anointed King. The King appeared careworn and did not return the smile.

"Gandalf, my friend, I am sorry I was not here to welcome you back to the city having been detained with matters of State", said Aragorn.

"No need, my King. I have just recently returned as well. I had to see with mine own eyes that Minas Morgul was indeed destroyed. The tower is in ruins, but I fear no man will ever be able to travel through that vale or rebuild the once great Minas Ithil, so prevalent is the feeling of evil now on that land," said Gandalf.

“I am glad you have seen to these things, yet there are other issues with which we should speak at this time," Aragorn's face was grim. "It is Frodo, he has been very ill these last few days. Apparently, the destroying of the Ring has weakened him and left him susceptible to other illnesses. He has been delirious with fever and is in great pain. He believes the ring has yet to be destroyed and is determined to fulfill the quest he has already almost lost his life to. We are treating him, but perhaps you could join me at the Houses of Healing and see if there is anything you could do for him, my friend," he asked hopefully.

“Of course, I will do whatever I can , but I am no healer. And since the destruction of the One Ring, I have lost much of my powers I once had”, replied Gandalf.

"We believe he has 'brain fever' due to a throat infection and brought on, no doubt, by the foul treatment by the orcs and his arduous journey to Mount Doom. He and Sam are quite undernourished and are therefore, more prone to infections and fevers."

"This is grievous news. I have seen the effects of this disease. It is unmerciful and cruel and the victims almost always perish”, sighed Gandalf. Suddenly he felt very, very old. He had helped choose Frodo because he had known the strength of this small person. He had known the path that would need to be taken to destroy the ring, and had hated having to expose his small friend to the great possibility of torture and death. There was a great guilt within him, but the choice had been laid before him even knowing the probable outcome. There simply had been no other way. Still he cared deeply for Frodo, possibly more than any other being, and wanted very much to see him returned to some semblance of a normal life. "Let us go to him. There must be something we can do to help him. Remembering his strength, from what great well he draws upon, I know not, there is still a good chance of recovery," mused Gandalf.

Aragorn smiled. "I must agree. If I had an army of Frodos, I would never want for peace in my land. His great desire to resolve problems without fighting and yet he is able to wield a blade if needs be, have shown him to be a remarkable statesman and warrior." They gathered their cloaks as the breeze had become a brisk and, with two guards in tow, started to descend from the courtyard down to the sixth level and the Houses of Healing.

Frodo staggered from the doorway of the Houses of Healing out into the cold night. He had not as yet, put on his cloak, but did so now as the breeze blew across his sweat drenched body, causing him to shudder violently. He secreted himself behind a rather large rock off to his left, which was actually a large statue of a prominent healer in Minas Tirith. He lay down to try to regain some of his lost energy from the aftermath of the conflict with the orcs. As he lay there, he was wracked with uncontrollable spasms. It started first as a buzzing sound in his head but quickly progressed into convulsions. He groaned as his frail body bucked, biting his tongue, and drawing fresh blood. In his mind colors, more vivid than any he had ever seen in Middle Earth, flashed brilliant and rapidly. His eyes rolled back into his head and he was not surprised that the last color he saw was black. When he awoke his head and limbs ached with the repeated pounding upon the ground. He reached down to his right ring finger and purposely bumped it, hoping the pain would somehow revive him from the lethargy following the fit. It did this and more. He could not remember what had caused the wound. Perhaps he had lost it in Cirith Ungol, but now his hand and right arm flared in a fresh fire of agony. Bright red blood runneled across the ground and seeped into the dirt. He rolled onto his side and allowed the nausea to claim him. The retching seemed to go on forever until he was unable to bring even bile forth. Totally spent, he lay there panting and sobbing. He knew he needed to keep moving so he gradually rose to his knees and began a slow crawl along the rock-strewn roadway. He paused and lifted himself up to a crouching position using a small stone for balance. He peered out into the night and gasped at what he saw. Far below him were fires on a plain. He was sure these were the fires from the glut of lava spilling forth from Orodruin. As he watched, the ash falling down on him like snow, the smoke and stench reached his nostrils and he gagged on the noxious vapors. He turned slowly around to see how far up the slope he had progressed. He saw a winding road pressed against the mountain wreathed in firelight. At the very top was a spike of bright light, the top of the great volcano and the path rimmed in fire.

“Sam, where are you? What did they do to you? I know you would be here with me...that the only thing that would keep you away would be death itself”, he sobbed. Tears flowed freely now as he thought of his dearest and closest friend being captured and killed by Sauron's forces. "It's all my fault. You should never have been allowed to come, but I knew you would, despite my concerns. So devoted, selfless, and full of light...oh, how very much I need you now by my side." And what of Merry and Pip? He despaired. They could all be dead, all those he loved--gone. Amidst the grief that filled Frodo, a determination set in. He grit his teeth. "I'll not let this happen to others who have loved ones. I will stop it now before Sauron can wipe all that is good from Middle Earth." With that new strength of will he slowly began his ascent up the slope, following the roadway ending at the Cracks of Doom.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Smoke and Mirrors

Chapter 4

Aragorn and Gandalf passed through the seventh gate and started down the incline leading to the sixth level and the Houses of Healing. As they rounded the curve leading to the south portal, four guards ran towards them, hailing them. "My Lord, I have hurried as fast as I could to bring you dire news of the Ringbearer”, the lead guard panted.

Aragorn and Gandalf's faces crumpled in grief. "So the Ringbearer has succumbed, then?"

"No, my Liege. He has escaped." Aragorn's face reflected the shock both he and Gandalf were experiencing. "He was delusional and attacked the healer Saleth and Lord Faramir as they tried to detain him," replied the guard.

"Escaped? By what miracle? This small one was unable to rise let alone summon the energy needed to wield a sword or make an escape," exclaimed an astonished Aragorn.

"Now Aragorn, remember with whom you are dealing here. Frodo is a very stubborn, resourceful hobbit. Unlike most of his kind, he has a bright inner light. If he felt in any way that he was in danger...," started Gandalf.

"No, not *he* ...but Middle Earth," interrupted Aragorn. "In his delirium he thought he had not as yet destroyed the ring, so that would be his aim if he were to escape."

"You are not seriously thinking he would try the long trek to Mordor, are you?" exclaimed Gandalf.

"No...No, I think in Frodo's mind he *IS* in Mordor," murmured Aragorn. "We must act quickly." Turning to the guards, he said, "Gather all the guards that can be spared and search each level thoroughly. He could not have gotten far in his condition. Make certain to check all alleyways or any low-lying areas where a hobbit could hide, and remember NO harm shall befall him. If any man should use force or harm the Ringbearer, I will take it PERSONALLY and my judgment will be swift and cruel." A sharp glint touched the King's eyes as he said the last, the meaning not lost on the entourage.

"He is small and slower-we should not have any trouble locating him, my King," said the first guard.

"Do not be so hasty to judge the little ones, they are very good at not being seen if they so desire it and can be aggressive warriors in their own right, if threatened," warned Aragorn.

"I meant no disrespect my King", the guard backpedaled. "We will be thorough and gentle when we find him. By your leave, your Highness?" the guard bowed with great respect.

"It is given," responded the King. The guards continued up the incline to muster the guard for the search. Aragorn and Gandalf moved now with new purpose, towards the Houses of Healing.

"If only Legolas and Gimli were here to help with this dilemma. Legolas especially with his Elvin senses and gentle manner would be welcome now," sighed Gandalf.

"He greatly wished to journey to Mirkwood and see King Thranduil, and they are both far from Gondor now. By the Valar, I hope Frodo is alright," said the King.

When they arrived at the Houses of Healing their eyes opened wide with shock at the ensuing uproar. They moved past the remaining guards, Aragorn pausing to relate what he desired of them. The guards dispersed. Gandalf and Aragorn went through the doorway and the melee. On the floor as he entered, a very pale Faramir was being lifted between two healers. He leaned heavily on them, his arms about their necks. They had torn away his leggings, which were saturated with blood, and bandaged the stab wound.

"How fair you, Captain?" asked Aragorn.

"I am well enough. The sword did not inflict any serious damage. I only wish I could have stopped him or reasoned with him, but when I looked into his eyes, there was no recognition. He was as a wild animal, which was desperate to escape a cage. What has befallen him for him to act so?" asked Faramir.

"He is very ill. There is naught you could have done to stop him. You know how determined he can be," replied Aragorn.

"Aye, I do”, smiled Faramir. "But what is his goal? The Ring is gone, he has but to return to normal life."

"Frodo is suffering from, we believe, 'brain fever'." Faramir gasped. "He has been delirious and thinks the Ring and Sauron still exist," continued Aragorn.

"If this is true, we must find him quickly or he will be beyond our help soon. Allow me to help you in the search...You there, Master Healer, I wish to be bound so that I might assist the King in his search for Frodo," called Faramir to Saleth.

"Absolutely NOT, my Lord. You have lost a great deal of blood, and when you put pressure on that leg, it will reopen the wound. You will remain in bed until I am satisfied you are well enough to walk on it," replied Saleth. Faramir's mouth fell open.

"Tell him, Aragorn. Tell him you demand he release me so I may assist you," implored Faramir, for the moment forgetting to address his King as he should.

Aragorn gave him a kind smile. "I am sorry my friend, but Saleth has the last word in the matters of healing and you must stay behind and in bed as he requests, nay, *orders*.

Saleth gave a victorious look at Faramir and a thankful one to Aragorn. Without the King's support, he would have been hard pressed to restrain the Steward from releasing himself from the Houses of Healing. Saleth was again grateful to have Aragorn in his rightful place as the King of Gondor. Faramir was helped away, looking over his shoulder, hopefully, at Aragorn. As Saleth turned to go Aragorn's eyes lit on the bandaged left hand.

"And what of you, Master Healer? Perhaps you need rest as well?" he smiled.

Saleth blushed at this. "It is nothing, just a scratch, my Liege", he replied nervously.

"Let me see it then," replied Aragorn with a stern look.

"But .... Yes, you’re Highness”, the healer acquiesced, seeing the look in the King's eyes.

The King unwound the hand and glanced up quickly at Saleth. "This is no small *scratch*, Master Healer. Do you know the penalty for lying to your King?" Aragorn asked softly.

"Your pardon, my Liege. I meant no deception, truly. I wish only to regain order here and see to Captain Faramir," murmured Saleth.

"It will need stitches," murmured Aragorn as he looked closely at the gash. He hailed a nearby orderly.

"Bring me a suturing tool and fine line." The orderly bowed and went to arrange for the requested materials. When he returned with the suturing supplies, he also had brought an antiseptic salve and a tea for the Master Healer. Aragorn nodded to the orderly in appreciation. He turned to Saleth. "I will put in the stitches myself, because I desire greatly to hear how someone as sick as the Ringbearer was able to overcome not one, but two men twice his height, and escape while suffering from fever, great weakness and pain."

Saleth gulped. "Yes, my Lord." Aragorn looked up into the now tear filled eyes of the healer. He knew in his heart that whatever befell the Ringbearer this gentle man would, forever, blame himself. A surge of pity and compassion filled his heart.

"Peace, my friend. I am not here to lay blame on your already troubled shoulders. I seek only information so that we might locate Frodo quickly," murmured Aragorn. Saleth swallowed hard and was again thankful for as great a King as Aragorn. His compassion would be as a beacon in the dark for the kingdom of Gondor.

"It is all my fault. I had prepared the instruments you had requested and sat to rest awaiting your return, Your Highness."

"I am equally to blame, Master Healer, as I was delayed with matters of state," replied Aragorn. "Continue please."

"I had sat to rest as I was most weary. I must have fallen asleep because something awoke me...a noise. When I looked up, the Ringbearer was not in his bed." He swallowed again. "I felt a great fear that perhaps he had fallen out of his bed while in his delirium."

"Why did you not bind him, Saleth?" Aragorn gently asked.

"I was loath to do so. He is so small and frail. I felt it a great dishonor to all he had done and a great cruelty to his spent frame," murmured Saleth.

"I understand your feelings on this. I, too, would have been hard pressed to inflict that final blow on Frodo. But, surely you realized it was not an act born of maliciousness, but a kindness to keep him from further harm?"

"I know, Your Highness, but I still could not bring myself to do it. I chose, instead to keep a vigil. Unfortunately, my own fatigue was my undoing," replied Saleth.

"It is hard to stay vigilant when ones own body is tired. Continue please." Aragorn had put three stitches in place as they spoke and now continued onto the fourth.

"I called out for him, and there was no answer. So, I walked around to the other side of the bed. He was huddled against the bed, a look of panic in his eyes. He was very damp from the sweats of the fever. He had a cloak clutched in his left hand and his blade in his right. I tried to talk soothingly to him, but he crept backwards to the corner, obviously not understanding my intent. Then," and here Saleth gulped as he remembered the removal of the gauze on Frodo's maimed hand, "He sliced the gauze off of his right hand and removed the bandages. Better to grip the sword with, I assume. The ring finger began bleeding anew."

Aragorn looked troubled as Saleth related the manner in which Frodo had removed his bandages and had stopped stitching as he watched Saleth's face in horror. The King lowered his head and resumed his work. "Pray continue," he said quietly.

"He pointed the sword at my chest and motioned for me to go back to the chair and sit. I tried to tell him he had already destroyed the ring and was now clasping tightly the pendant the Queen had placed around his neck, but he did not believe me. Although, for a second, he did hesitate as if this was familiar to him."

Again Aragorn looked up from his work. "Do you think he doubted himself--that the ring *really* had been destroyed after all? Speak true, Saleth, this could be very important," asked Aragorn.

"I do, my Liege. Just for a moment he seemed confused and looked as if he believed me." Aragorn nodded for him to go on. "He pulled himself up slowly against the wall. He was so very weak I was sure he would collapse at any moment”, Aragorn smiled at this, knowing exactly how much willfulness lay in Frodo. "He was very shaky but managed to creep along the wall to the doorway and then out into the corridor. I slowly left my seat and walked through the doorway and looked around the corner in the hallway. He was standing with his forehead pressed to the cobble, a look of delight on his face."

"He must have relished the feeling of the cool stone against his fevered skin," Aragorn said sadly.

"Indeed, but then he noticed me out of the corner of his eye and rounded on me with renewed energy, no doubt from adrenaline." Aragorn nodded his agreement. Everyone knew of adrenaline or the 'fight or flight' rush. Unfortunately, the rush was usually short lived and left the person feeling even more drained than before. "I approached him telling him I wanted to help him but he slowly backed away. He vomited quite suddenly and violently then and started to fall. I reached out to catch him. That was when he sliced my palm with the sword. He must have thought I was making an aggressive move."

"Hmm...Well, you have ten new stitches to show you have fought in battle," Aragorn said as he bandaged the gash after wiping it with the salve.

"Please jest not, my Liege. I neither earned or desired battle or its wounds," the healer lamented.

"I am not jesting, Master Healer. Aragorn looked into his eyes. "Frodo could just have easily run you through, but even at his worst he is better than the rest of us at our best." Saleth nodded.

"I have felt this way as well, about our Ringbearer."

"Continue...how did Faramir become involved?" asked Aragorn.

"Master Baggins was slowly retreating down the hallway. He was so weak but fear drove him on. He backed into Captain Faramir. The Captain was delighted to see him, but when Frodo turned around, the look on the Steward's face turned to confusion. He glanced down the hall and saw the blood and myself sitting on the floor, and asked Frodo what was happening. Frodo wavered as to fall and the Captain reached out to steady him. Again, he must have felt threatened and stabbed the Steward in the leg. Captain Faramir screamed and called out to Frodo, but he had vanished into the night”, completed Saleth.

Aragorn arose. "Your tale was most enlightening and I feel no ill will towards you for Frodo's escape. He can be very determined. I am sure he would have found another way if this had failed, to escape. You have done well. Now, take this tea and retire for a few hours. I will awaken you when we find Frodo," said Aragorn.

"But I must tend to the Steward, my Liege. I cannot sleep," said Saleth.

"You have been taxed beyond your limits and need rest. The other healers will attend to the Captain, I shall make certain of it." When Saleth hesitated still, Aragorn handed him the tea. "That was not a request, Master Healer, or do you wish to stir the ire of your King?" Aragorn smiled.

Seeing that there was no recourse but to relent to the King's wishes, Saleth drank the tea. He lay back on the bed nearest him and slowly closed his eyes. "My King, I am sorry," he murmured.

"No need, my friend you are a good man and healer. You have done no wrong. Now rest." Aragorn covered the healer and left the room, walking to where Faramir had been taken. Gandalf was watching and chatting lightly to Faramir as a healer stitched the wound. Faramir however, was not in a *chatting* mood. He lay on the bed looking at the ceiling.

"After you have seen to his wounds you may wish to give him a tonic for sleep," said Aragorn.

"My King, is that really necessary?" Faramir said grumpily. Gandalf chuckled.

"Yes, it is, my friend. Otherwise I will have to place two guards...guards that are needed in the search...by your bed to keep you in place”, Aragorn smiled. "The Master Healer is resting. You will care for the Captain in his stead," said Aragorn to the healer.

"Yes, my Lord. I am gladdened that you were able to coerce the Master Healer to sleep. We have tried but he has refused, insisting he was needed here," replied the healer.

"Coerced... hmm, yes, I guess I did *coerce* him. In any event, you are in charge until he awakens."

"Thank you my Lord." Gandalf and Aragorn turned to leave.

"But you can not just *leave* me here. I need to help with the search," whined Faramir.

"What are you orders, Second Master Healer?" asked Aragorn.

"To finish dressing the Steward's wound and then give him a tonic so he may sleep”, recounted the healer.

"Correct. I am sorry my friend, but not this time. Worry not, I will let you know when we find him. Sleep well." Aragorn smiled. Gandalf gave Faramir a look of 'there is nothing I can do', and then they both turned and left the room.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Smoke and Mirrors

Chapter 5

As Aragorn and Gandalf walked down the hall, they stopped to check on Merry, Pippin and Sam's progress. What greeted their eyes caused them to step back in shock. All three hobbits were dressing while a healer stood by trying desperately to get them back into their beds. Pippin was very pale and was struggling with a shirt while Sam seemed most unsteady, but they were not to be deterred.

"What is going on? You all need your rest and are in no shape to be out of bed", spoke Aragorn sternly.

Sam turned staggering, but quickly recovering. He looked up at Aragorn and Gandalf, his hazel eyes blazing with anger. "You...you...you were goin' ta leave us outta this…don't deny it! He's my best friend and me master, and without a word or by your leave, you leave us in the dark!" stammered Sam with tears of frustration in his eyes.

"Sam, calm yourself. Sit down before you fall down, "Aragorn spoke softly.

"No sir! I'll not be sittin' or sleepin' not till Mr. Frodo is back safe!" Sam declared, setting his jaw.

"Sam, I am the King and you, Merry and Pippin will now SIT unless you wish me to call a guard," Aragorn said with mock irritation.

Sam sank to the floor. Aragorn could not tell if he *meant* to or if his legs had simply given out on him. Merry gently helped Pippin over to Sam's side. The healer carefully lifted all three to the bed, with a nod from Aragorn, he bowed and left the room. All three looked down at their hands.

Finally Aragorn spoke. "Sam, you, Merry and Pip are still recovering from your wounds. I did not speak of Frodo to you because you were unconscious, as were Merry and Pip, when all of this occurred. You have not even eaten a decent meal. You are very weak...too weak to start another quest. Merry, you are still recovering from a near fatal conflict with the Witch King. Pippin, oh Pippin. I am still in awe that you live and breathe, after being crushed by that troll. How could I possibly consider further endangering your well being by bringing you such grim news of Frodo?" Aragorn asked softly.

Sam looked up into the eyes of the new King. "My question to you King Strider, sir, is how could you not?" The anger was still there, but along with it now was a pleading look in Sam's damp eyes. "Mr. Gandalf told me 'Don't you leave him, Samwise Gamgee' and I don't mean too ever leave his side. He is my Master and my friend. To think that he's out there, all alone without his Sam, sick and hurt and maybe dyin'", Sam's voice cracked on the last word and tears fell freely as he sobbed openly. "I open me eyes and Mr. Frodo's bed is empty. I turn and see Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin are wakin' and I asked them where was Mr. Frodo? But they didn't know. They told me he was right sick and I got pretty near crazy wonderin' if he'd died or somethin'. So I gets outta bed and goes to the hallway and I hears a huge commotion goin' on. A healer is speakin' with a hurt healer that's sittin' on the floor and he says..." and here Sam gulps convulsively," he says Mr. Frodo attacked him and the Captain Faramir and that he's gone...escaped like. He says Mr. Frodo's in a da-leer-e-um”, Sam trys to say the word and then continues. “...and that he's outta his mind in pain and if they don't find him soon he's gonna die," Sam inhaled with a shuddering sob, fresh tears track down his once pudgy cheeks. His chest is hitching and he could hardly speak, but continued, speaking faster and faster. "He says he thinks he's still got that foul ring and is trying to get to the mountain of Fire, like he's relivin' the worst part all over again”, and here Sam's voice rises in dismay, "but he aint got his Sam to help 'em this time." Sam slumps over now, exhausted from this emotional outburst, he reaches up and wipes his nose on his sleeve. He stops talking and suddenly seems very small in Aragorn's eyes. Aragorn has watched Sam, Merry and Pippin throughout Sam's speech. Merry and Pip had nodded with agreement and looked back and forth between Aragorn and Gandalf to Sam checking for weaknesses in the men, and consoling their poor friend. Sam had needed to speak his mind and Aragorn knew once this was done, it would be easier to reason with the hobbits. As he looked at Sam, Aragorn was again struck with how devoted and loyal he was to Frodo but not a devotion borne through some antiquated Master-Servant relationship. No, these two were far past Master and Servant and had a deep brotherly affection that bound them together. Merry and Pippin were devoted to their favorite cousin and had a deep love for him, yet Sam and Frodo had been through Sauron's purgatory together which had weld them together, until it seemed they were almost of one soul and mind now. Aragorn felt great compassion for the three hobbits and moved to sit beside them, pulling them to him. He looked up at Gandalf and with a slight nod towards the doorway, indicated he wished to speak with him in the hallway.

"I must consider my course of action, gentlemen. Let me speak with Gandalf and I will return shortly. Please take your rest and some food and then we shall speak again," Aragorn said softly. He rose to leave.

"Beggin' your pardon, your Regalness sir, but me and the 'gentlemen' have made *our* decision and won't be put off, if you take my meanin' , your Kingship," murmured Sam.

Aragorn raised an eyebrow and smiled, "Are all hobbits so stubborn, Master Gardener? My conference with Gandalf shall be brief, fear not." He made to leave, gently placing his had on each small curly head as he did so. He walked out into the hallway and spied the healer that had been in the room with the hobbits. "Please bring food for three famished hobbits--broth, bread, fruit and perhaps some wine," said Aragorn.

"Would you like me to bring sleeping tonics as well, my Lord?" asked the healer.

"Not as yet. I fear they would never forgive me if I did not at least *consider* their request," Aragorn replied.

"As you wish, my Lord”, said the healer and left to gather the meal. A few moments later, he re-entered the hobbits sick room and spread what looked like a huge feast, in Sam's eyes, on the table pulling it closer to the bed. Sam's eyes lit up. He hadn't eaten naught but lembas and that had been so long ago, he thought. His stomach growled. Pippin was delighted and rubbed his small hands together. Merry grabbed at an apple before the meal was even in place. The healer smiled and left the room.

"So much food," murmured Sam.

"Actually, I was just thinking it was a bit meager fare for a hobbit," said Pip.

"Oh, Pippin! Some things will never change with you, I suppose," Merry said smiling. They all agreed it was delicious in the end, however. Pippin had three servings of soup with rolls and jam, and then there were the oranges. These were his personal favorites. He couldn't get enough of the sweet juice as it squirted and flowed down his chin. Too bad, they didn't have these in the Shire, he thought. Merry kept up, but seemed to be relishing every bite and enjoying the wine especially. Sam ate slowly. He was very hungry but his eyes continuously darted to the doorway and then back to his bowl of soup. He found he could not eat as much as he used to and was almost ashamed that he ate only half a bowl of soup and a roll. Most unseemly for a hobbit, he thought, his stomach groaning at the unexpected occurrence of food in abundance.

"All we need now are pipes," said Merry. Pippin nodded in agreement.

"Don't know as I could tolerate a pipe after goin' without for so long. Might make me right woozy or even sick," said Sam. They all sat back and groaned as the meal settled in. Sam continued to watch the doorway. "You don't think they'd leave without lettin' us know, do ya?" he thought aloud.

"Sam, Aragorn's good to his word. What we've asked deserves careful thought. I am sure he'll be back soon," said Merry. His appetite sated, Pippin was drowsing, curled up against Merry. Merry's hand rested on his curly head.

"I am so awful worried about Mr. Frodo. If they say no, I don't know rightly what I'd do," Sam said. Then a look of fierce determination filled his eyes. Merry could tell by the set of his jaw, there would be no stopping the gardener. Before Sam even opened his mouth, Merry knew what he would say. "Mr. Merry, I'll go whether or no they say I can ."

"I know Sam, " said Merry calmly.

"If push comes to shove, and only one of us can go, what would you do?" asked Sam, his eyes flicking cautiously to Merry.

Merry smiled slightly. "Sam, I love my cousin very, very much but Pippin won't be able to go, it's clear. At least three of his ribs are broken, and that troll crushed his right leg. I couldn't bear to leave him behind knowing how hurt he would be." He gently ran his fingers through his young cousin's hair as he slept. "I'm not stupid. If they take anyone, it would be you, Sam. You have my backing on this, as much as it hurts me to be left behind to worry," said Merry gently.

A huge sigh escaped Sam's lips. He hadn't realized he was holding his breath, until Merry had finished. Sam looked gratefully at Merry. "I am surely thankful you feel the same way as I, Mr. Merry. I know it's puttin' the cart ahead of the mule and all, but if they decide we can help, I know Mr. Pippin couldn't be moved and I knows Mr. Frodo best, if you don't mind me sayin' so, Sir." Merry smiled.

"No indeed, Sam. You have been with him, by his side, I think you probably know Frodo better than he does himself. You clearly would be the best to help find him. Plus, he may listen to you and come to his senses, if he's not too far gone," Merry's voice trailed off.

"Oh, don't talk such..." sobbed Sam.

"I am sorry Sam, but you must prepare yourself, just in case," said Merry.

"I know, Mr. Merry and no offense to you sir, I hope you're dead wrong on this,” whispered Sam.

"Me too, Sam. Me too," murmured Merry.

*********************************************************************************************************************************************************  
Aragorn and Gandalf stood just outside the hobbits doorway, talking quietly about the new problem they now faced. "This night just gets better and better," groused Aragorn.

"Indeed, I am very thankful I am not the King of this great land but simply an innocent bystander," Gandalf said with a viscous grin.

"Innocent! You are many remarkable things, my friend, but *innocent* has never been one of them!" said Aragorn with a grin. "Sam could be very useful in finding Frodo," he continued more thoughtfully. "I feel he knows Frodo better than he knows himself. Pippin should not be moved, his bones are still setting. Did you see how he paled when Merry practically carried him to the other bed?" he asked.

"Yes, it would be very hard on him should he be left behind alone," mused Gandalf.

"Merry would not allow that. If Pip were left behind, we both know Merry could not bear him being distraught and would linger with him. That leads us back to Sam," said Aragorn.

"I am in agreement, although I am loathe to bring Sam, as he is still very weak," commented Gandalf.

"Let us adjourn and see what the hobbits think." Aragorn said as he turned towards the doorway. They walked back into the hobbits room and saw Pippin asleep against Merry, Sam looked up hopefully at Aragorn and Gandalf. Merry looked up from Pippin and locked eyes with the King. Merry had a calmness about him, and his eyes were full of understanding. He smiled slightly and gave the King a nod. So, he knows already, thought Aragorn. He was grateful this would not turn into a debate with the hobbits, as time was growing short. He turned to Sam and locked eyes with the gardener. "We have decided to take Sam with us. Sam sighed in audible relief. Merry, you must remain here as Pippin should not be moved under any circumstances." Merry nodded. "In fact, the bed he now lays on, he will stay in. I do not want you helping him to move as it could set his recovery back many weeks. The small trip from his bed to this one may have already done so."

Merry looked at Strider in alarm. "Strider, I did not realize..." he started.”Will he be alright?"

"I will re-examine him and we shall determine if there was any damage done. Don't worry, Merry, I'm sure he will be fine. He heals very fast." Aragorn moved to the bed and Merry gently extracted himself from his sleeping cousin. Pippin whimpered from the sudden loss of comforting warmth. Aragorn unwrapped the splint from Pippin's leg and began feeling up and down the bones. Pippin's eyes flew open and he gave a small gasp. "It's all right Pippin, I just want to make sure you are still in one piece." Merry crooned a litany of soft sounds in Pip's ear as he combed the soft curls with his fingers. Satisfied that the leg was healing well, and had suffered no damage from the move, Aragorn resplinted it and wrapped it in clean bandages. Next, he lifted the nightshirt, unwrapping the small chest to inspect Pippin's ribs. The skin was glorious shades of yellow and purple that would have been attractive if on anything except a hobbit. He gently probed the ribcage causing Pippin to inhale and sob. "You are healing well, Master Took. I'm sorry if I'm causing you discomfort. He had Merry hold Pippin up in a sitting position and firmly rewrapped the setting ribcage. Tears silently flowed down Pippin's face. They slowly lay him back down and covered him. Aragorn called for the healer and murmured something in his ear. The healer left and returned shortly with two glasses of cordial.

Merry quickly looked up at Aragorn. “You don't mean one of those for me, do you Strider?" he set his jaw.

"One is a sleeping draught for Pippin , the other is a less potent version of the first. Merry, you still need your rest." Aragorn said softly. Merry was shaking his head emphatically. "If you drink this, I promise I will be able to awaken you when Frodo is found. Otherwise, I think we both know that you will sit here and worry yourself sick. I give you my word, Merry, I *will* wake you."

Merry observed the cordial skeptically. "You give me your solemn oath as King?” he asked.

"I do, my friend," said Aragorn.

"Very well, I will drink it," he said. They again lifted Pippin into a sitting position. His eyes had slitted while they spoke and now they opened and he looked disorientedly around him. "Here Pip, drink this,” said Merry.

"No Mer...Frodo," he whimpered.

"It's all right, my sweet. We will see Frodo again soon," Merry said glancing at Aragorn. Aragorn winced at this last statement.

"Will you stay with me, Mer?" sighed Pippin.

"Of course, Pipsqueak. I will never leave you, you silly Took." Merry smiled weakly. Pippin drank the cordial and then Merry drank his. He lay down next to Pippin in the huge bed and Aragorn covered them both with a blanket. He looked down at Merry. "Remember your oath, Strider," he said as his eyes began to close. "...Save Frodo..wake me..." and then he lost the battle and fell asleep.

Aragorn smiled and kissed Merry's curly head, "stubborn breed, these hobbits, but quite endearing." he whispered. He turned to Sam. "Sam, we will be going now. There are just two things I will ask of you that you must do or we will sedate you and leave you behind," Aragorn said grimly.

"Anything, Strider sir," Sam said, desperate to be gone and willing to do anything to start the search.

"You will be carried on my hip like a child and I'll hear no complaints about it. And you will rest against me as much as possible while we walk," Strider said softly.

"Yes sir. Can we go now?" Sam was swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

Aragorn smiled and lifted Sam up to his left hip easily. He was surprised at how little the hobbit weighed. When he had met them in Bree, Sam had been 'stout' even for a hobbit. As he looked at him now he could see how thin he had become. The little belly was gone, his face had none of the chubbiness it had before. Aragorn grimaced as he felt Sam's bones in his back and hips jutting out under his clothing, which hung on him loosely. Again, he sighed at how much these small beings had endured. He looked at Gandalf. Gandalf too had noticed the difference in Sam, and they shared a small worried glance. Finally, they set out. They had been delayed far too long at the Houses of Healing and now sought to make up for this in an aggressive search for their friend.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 6

 

Frodo had staggered along the curving sixth level of Minas Tirith using the wall to help him for perhaps twenty-five feet. He heard footsteps approaching and sought out another piece of statuary to secret himself. He slumped down behind the base of the statue, completely exhausted. As he sat there, the guards paused to search amongst the pillars, bushes, and abandoned gardens for the Ringbearer and then slowly moved on down the circle. Frodo was panting -- he was so hot, runnels of sweat ran down his face, getting in his eyes. He brushed them aside leaving bloody smears in there place. He was so tired. He lay down on his side to rest a bit. Immediately convulsing as he did so. This had been the third time his body had been wracked violently with the fever-induced convulsions, increasing the now throbbing pain in his head. He retched, whimpering as he did so.

The guards paused in their descent and looked back up the incline. "I heard something," said one. "It seemed to come from back up that way. Let's go back and search that area again," he said pointing up at the area where Frodo was hiding.

Frodo heard this clearly and in a panic, curled himself into a tiny ball, wrapping the cloak he had been given in Lorien tightly around himself, covering his head. The guards came stealthily towards his hiding place with their torches, scanning the ground and surrounding area. Frodo held his breath, sure that the orc search party would soon discover him and drag him back to his dungeon. The cloak was woven so as to render the wearer all but invisible except under the very closest scrutiny. Frodo could hear the orc not a pace away from him and could see the light moving back and forth through the cloth of the cloak. "Nothin'. I don't see nothin. Musta' been some kinda animal," said the orc.

"Aye, rats probably. Let's move on. The King is expectin' results and so far we have naught to give him," said the second orc.

They resumed their search, moving towards the lower levels. Frodo slowly lowered the cloak and let out a slow sigh. He crawled wobbly around the statue and peered down the pathway. He looked in the opposite direction and once again, began his ascent of 'Orodruin'. He had found with each successive fit he had become weaker and weaker until now he was forced to crawl, scrapping his hands and knees until they were a bloody pulp. He didn't notice the pain so much anymore and his eyes took on a glassy stare. His body moved without his conscious effort, as if by instinct. His mind wandered to thoughts of Sam and the others. The ring had retreated briefly from his mind, growing strangely quiet. This mystified him as the constant calling of the ring had been so prevalent in the past weeks and months, but he was grateful for the reprieve all the same. Over the next hour, he crawled twenty-five more feet, constantly being forced to hide as more orc hunting parties came and went along the roadway. Finally, he heard the sound of water. The bubbling sound was coming from one of the many wide spots along his path. He crawled in that direction. It was a pond with a small waterfall trickling down into it from rocks set above it. Although he knew not to drink of the water while in Mordor, his parched throat felt differently and he was helpless to stop himself. He crawled over the edge of the pond and lay down in the cool water, drinking in desperate great gulps as he did so. He lay there, pleasantly floating on his back for sometime, drinking his fill and then crawled back over the edge and rested on the ground. Suddenly cramps seized his empty stomach and he retched most of the water onto the pavement. He was completely soaked through. Coupled with the breeze and his fever, he began to shake violently. He groaned, his teeth chattering, trying to right himself. After many tries, he managed to crawl back to the roadway. More orcs were passing and he crouched behind a tall bush making himself all but invisible to the rat like eyes of the enemy. They passed, and shivering uncontrollably, he continued to move along the edge of the roadway, collapsing into a small ditch not ten feet from where he had last stopped. He curled into a ball, wrapping his wet cloak about him, trying to draw some small degree of warmth from the dripping garment back into his body. He lost consciousness, falling into a dark dream where orcs were everywhere, searching for him and the ring, until finally he was cornered in a black maze that had no exit.

*****

As Gandalf, Aragorn and Sam left the healers, Gandalf began quietly asking the small gardener for information he hoped would lead them to Frodo. "Sam. Tell us about the climb up the Mountain of Fire." Sam grimaced. "I believe any information you yield could help us better find Frodo in his current state of mind," continued Gandalf. Sam looked at Gandalf with renewed interest. "I know it is painful, Samwise, but will you not tell us of this last part of your journey?" he asked softly. Aragorn glanced down at Sam with a look of encouragement in his eyes.

Sam gulped. "Well sir, we were 'bout at the limits of our strength. We had no more food and water, but we kept goin' anyways. The rocks were terrible sharp and soon our hands and feet were sliced up right bad and bleedin'. We climbed it seemed forever," Sam's eyes were hooded as he recalled the unending darkness and slow tortuous climb. Aragorn pulled him closer, placing a reassuring hand on his back, gently stroking in small circles. Sam glanced at Aragorn and gave a small smile of thanks. "We came to a roadway that seemed to come from Sauron's tower..."

"Baradur," commented Gandalf.

"Aye, Baradur. It seemed to come from there and connect to that volcano, but it wound upward like a snake around the Mountain of Fire , if you take my meanin'?" said Sam.

"Aragorn, stop," Gandalf said suddenly. He had a look of sudden inspiration on his face. Sam and Aragorn stopped and looked at the wizard quizzically. "Look up. For a moment, pretend you are a sick and desperate hobbit. You are delirious, but of course, don't know that. Your only aim is to climb Mount Doom and destroy the ring. What do you see before you?" asked Gandalf, urgently.

Aragorn and Sam looked up, and gasped. It was all so clear now. The winding road that connected each level of the great city of Minas Tirith would be as the Mountain of Fire to Frodo's confused mind. They turned and looked out over the fields of Pelennor. Fires from the huge mounds of the enemies dead blazed brightly on the vast plain. They realized how this would have looked to Frodo as he imagined the side of the great volcano overflowing with rivers of lava. "He is going to the Citadel," murmured Aragorn, "to cast the One Ring into the Cracks of Doom, or die trying”.

Sam sobbed at this last statement. "We have ta hurry, sirs. Your Highness, sir, I have somethin' I gotta do," he said.

"What is it, Sam?" asked Aragorn.

"Well, no offense intended to Your Lordship or Master Gandalf neither," he gulped, "but those guards you got runnin' around don't know what ta look for, bein' big and all. They don't think like hobbits. I need ta have you take me over to the statues and let me take a look ta see if Mr. Frodo's been about, if you take my meanin' sir?" Sam stammered.

Aragorn glanced at Gandalf. Gandalf's eyes widened and he nodded. They carried Sam to the statues and shrubbery that marked the roadway and set him down. Using a torch, they scanned the area. "Here! Here's somethin'," Sam cried out excitedly. Aragorn bent to examine the ground and the pillars. There was bile where someone had vomited and streaks of blood along the pillars as if someone were using them for support.

"Sam, you are brilliant!" he said picking up the hobbit and rapidly moving along the edge of the path. He stooped frequently to examine the ground. "More blood here,” he murmured almost to himself. This area has been disturbed. See how the leaves, branches, and pebbles are broken and scuffed about? Here is more bile. I fear Frodo may be having seizures." Sam and Gandalf's eyes met Aragorn's, a worried look passed between them.

"We must increase our pace. I feel a great urgency, more so than before," said Gandalf.

They continued moving up the incline until the road opened outward onto a plaza. Businesses and homes, long abandoned, stood in various stages of dilapidation. They heard the sound of water and moved towards it.

"Look," said Aragorn, "he is crawling. At the last stop I suspected as much, but here, in the dirt you can see the scrapping of his feet and there is more blood." They came to a small pond with a trickling waterfall, the water tinged pink. It was clear he had been here and immersed himself in the small pool. To the side of the pool a large wet mark lay on the ground. Aragorn knelt and touched his fingers to it, sniffed them and pulled back at the sour smell. "It seems he tried to slake his thirst but his stomach could not abide as much as he drank. This is still damp; he cannot have gone far. See? There is a trail of drips from his clothing--and here, look, a small heel mark. We are very close," Strider said excitedly. "We must hurry."

*****

Frodo awoke with a start and chastised himself for falling asleep. He began crawling upwards again, feeling almost as an outsider watching his body do this simple exercise. He was only semi-conscious now, and his body moved automatically. He viewed the surroundings with a hazy, disinterested stare. He finally saw before him the gate to the Cracks of Doom, but two orc guards stood watch. Somehow, he had to get past them and destroy the ring. He crawled quietly along the shadowed wall, creeping in and out of the various rocks, slowly closing the distance to the guards. He was now but a stones throw from the orc guards, and with that, Frodo got an idea. He would distract them and then slip into the doorway. He crept even closer, holding his breath and striving to maintain consciousness. He gathered some pebbles from the roadside and threw them down the incline where he had been moments before. The guards’ reaction was immediate. They turned and looked down the incline, their scanning the adjacent area.

"It could be the halfling," said the orc on the right. "You stay here, I will go investigate."

The second orc nodded in agreement. Frodo pulled back into the shadows wrapping the cloak closer around him. The first orc raced past him disappearing into the rocks and shrubs. The second orc looked on from the gate, curious. Frodo threw two more pebbles down the incline.

"Amier. Was that you?” the second orc called out. The orc named 'Amier' called back.

"No, I am still over here searching these bushes. Go and see what it is."

"But, I cannot leave the gate”, called the second orc.

"It will only be a moment and I will return. Worry not, it will be alright”, called Amier.

With that, the second orc sprinted past Frodo down the incline to where Frodo's second volley had landed. Frodo smiled grimly. Orcs were so stupid. He gained his feet and crept up the incline and slipped through the doorway. What he saw astounded him. A large stone area opened before him and in the midst was a great stone tower wreathed in light and flame, the spire pointing a deadly finger at the night sky. In front of the tower was a circle of stones and in the center a dead tree stood. He moved away from this large center area to the rock wall lining the roadway, which had now turned into a path. At last, he had achieved his goal and he looked below him. The lava flowed across the vale and fire ringed the Mountain he had finally conquered. All about him was the smoke and stench of death. He took two steps forward closer to the rock wall. "This is for you, Sam." He said and he smiled a thin smile, tears running down his face. "This is for you and Merry and Pip. This is for the Shire!"

 

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Smoke and Mirrors

Chapter 7

Gandalf and Aragorn broke into a run. Sam who was cradled like a child on Aragorn's hip, thumped painfully against the man as he took huge, lunging strides up the incline and around the circle leading to the gate on the seventh level. He grasped tightly to Aragorn's neck, determined not to cry out although great fiery shots of pain coursed through his body from the motion. They were within sight now of the gate. Two guards were on watch and immediately came to attention.

"Have you seen the Ringbearer or anything untoward this night?" panted Aragorn.

"No, my Lord, all has been peaceful this night," replied the first guard. Aragorn harumphed at the irony of the guard's statement, knowing it had been anything but.

The second guard was giving discreet sidelong glances at his companion. He cleared his throat. The first guard gave him an alarmed look.

"You have something to add, young sir?" asked Gandalf with a piercing gaze.

"Please my Lord, I wish not to lose my position and perhaps it is of no import...,” murmured the second guard.

"Speak! What *are* you mumbling about, young man?" Gandalf scolded, looking irritated.

The young soldier was terrified. Not only was he about to tell the King but also the White Wizard of his dereliction to duty. His compatriot gave him a withering look, hoping his friend would not regale the two sires with what had occurred earlier. "My dear man, if I were to guarantee *no* repercussions whatsoever," Gandalf gave a pointed look at Aragorn, who raised an eyebrow in return, “would you *please* tell us of *anything* that occurred this eve that was out of the ordinary?" Gandalf spoke softly but his voice had an edge to it that was hard to ignore.

The young guard turned towards the King going down on one knee, his eyes beseeching. "My Lord, have mercy. I left my post earlier for only a moment as we heard noises in the brush," he said.

Aragorn looked down at the young soldier in amusement. "Rise, I am not angry with you and I am not interested, *currently*, " he looked pointedly at Gandalf "in whatever deviation to duty you have performed. I am, however, *very* worried about a dear friend, so tell us quickly of these 'noises'," said Aragorn.

"Yes, my Lord. We heard rocks falling on the roadway and rustling in the brush so we left our posts for a moment to investigate. Our search was in vain and we returned quickly to our posts here at the gate”, the guard finished hurriedly.

Aragorn looked at the guard. "You saw no one sneak past you through the gate?"

"No, my Lord, but we were over there," he pointed off towards the bushes, “only for a moment, and could not see the gate clearly."

"I think it was him," said Sam softly in Aragorn's ear. "It's what I woulda' done, I mean to say, sir," he finished.

Aragorn turned and smiled at Sam. "I agree Sam; it's what I would've done as well… a simple yet, obviously successful, distraction." Sam smiled hopefully at Aragorn. "Very well, please follow us, we may need your assistance”, said Aragorn to the guards.

"As you wish, my Lord," they said in unison. They glanced at each other in relief.

Aragorn, Sam, Gandalf and now the two new acquisitions ran through the gate and towards the Citadel. Aragorn stopped so fast that the rest of the entourage nearly collided with him. Upon the wall stood the Ringbearer, swaying in the breeze, his cloak billowing behind him, holding the pendant from the Queen Arwen, out over the precipice. Aragorn gasped at the wretched appearance of his friend. His face was covered in dirt and blood as sweat matted his chestnut curls to his head, running in rivulets down his forehead. His eyes were glazed over as he bent forward, shivering violently. His cloak and nightshirt were plastered to his small frame with perspiration common to the very ill. Water still dripped from his clothing, evidence of his recent swim in the pond. Even from where Aragorn stood, he could see the scrapes and cuts that covered the hands, legs, and feet of the former Ringbearer. Aragorn’s eyes were drawn to the right hand that still held Sting. The blade was slick with bright red blood from the bleeding stump of Frodo’s right hand. Sam gasped and wriggled to be set down. Aragorn hushed him, while holding his other hand back towards the group to show he wished them to stand still. Sam was crying and Aragorn knelt down on the ground releasing him from his hip. He held Sam by the shoulders and spoke softly in his ear, although Sam's eyes were fixed on Frodo, he nodded to Aragorn as he spoke. "Sam, you may have more luck at getting him down off that wall than any of us. His position is even more precarious than it appears, my friend," Aragorn said, referring to the obviously advanced state of the hobbit’s illness and Frodo’s proximity to the edge of the 700-foot precipice. "You must try, by whatever means--begging, lying --anything, to get him to come down. Do so in soft, reassuring tones so as not to alarm or startle him. Do you understand?"

Sam nodded again. Sam stood on wobbly legs as Aragorn held his hands out to either side of him, not unlike a parent guiding a toddler's first hesitant steps. However, Sam was oblivious to this, his eyes fixed only on Frodo. Slowly he moved towards the wall and began to call softly to Frodo. "Mr. Frodo? It's your Sam," Sam whispered, moving with arms outstretched towards his master. "Come down, Mr. Frodo. Please, Master, come to your Sam", he implored.

Frodo turned almost imperceptibly towards the voice of his best friend. "Sam?" he croaked, "Is that you, Sam?" His eyes lit upon the small gardener and he broke down into heartfelt weeping. "Oh Sam, I thought you were dead...when you weren't there...I thought they had killed you, dear Sam." He was sobbing as he started to bend down towards his friend. Unseen by either hobbit, Aragorn had circled wide around to the left of the pillar and was now approaching Frodo from the side, hoping to grab him if Sam should fail to call him down. One of the guards had circled wide to the right while the other ran below to the sixth level and looked up at the small figure perched high above him.

"I know, Mr. Frodo. I'm so sorry I wasn't there with you. Oh, Mr. Frodo I've been so worried about you. You've been so sick...having had the deliriums, what with the fever and all. Won't you please come down and let me take care of you, me dear?" Sam cried.

"But Sam, we've come so far. I have to destroy the Ring and complete our quest." Frodo looked at Sam as if he should know this obvious fact.

"Master, you already destroyed that cursed ring. Don't ya remember? That's how you lost your finger, Mr. Frodo. You've done what they asked ya, now you only have to get yourself well, sir," Sam begged, looking up at Frodo. Seeing the advanced state of his illness, and how truly pathetic his Master appeared, was taking its toll on Sam. He didn't think he could bear much more of seeing Frodo shiver with fever and cold, his pale face grimacing, periodically, in pain and standing so far out of Sam's reach.

Frodo looked at Sam, confusion in his eyes. "No, Sam. The Ring is here in my hand," he indicated the pendant swinging from his left hand held out over the wall. "It has claimed me. I am helpless to its call. My very soul is wrapped around it as a poisonous vine about a once healthy sapling," he muttered more to himself than to Sam. "We, the Ring and I, will never be parted, I fear. I will perish without it, so I must perish with it in order to finally be at peace,” he murmured.

"No, Master. You are strong, I will help make you stronger...if you will but come down from the wall." Sam was becoming more and more alarmed at this turn of conversation as his Master prepared to give up his life for something he had already destroyed.

"It's too late for me, dearest Sam. I have to destroy it or die trying”, his voice broke as he said this. Sam decided to take a different tact at this last statement. He hated Frodo to be separated from the calming effects of the Lady Arwen's pendant, but was more concerned now for the mental and physical well being of his Master and dear friend.

"Very well, Mr. Frodo, destroy that accursed Ring and let's leave this vile place. Throw it into the fires and be rid of its poisonous hold over you, once and for all," he said firmly. Frodo smiled, and made ready to do just that, turning with his arm extended out and took a wobbly step towards the abyss. Gandalf had slowly come up behind Sam and placed his hand on the small hobbit's shoulder. Frodo's back was turned to them. Aragorn crept within a few feet of Frodo, and slunk down behind one of the numerous stone vases. He was out of site but within reach of the Ringbearer. The other guard was still off to the right but not close enough to reach the ring bearer, as yet.

Frodo turned around to give Sam a last hope-filled smile, instead his eyes flew open, and he gasped, almost slipping from the wall... "Gandalf! It is Gandalf!" he exclaimed. A look of joy turned to skepticism covered his face as he gazed at Sam and the wizard. "But...I saw you fall”, tears flowed unchecked down his grimy face. "I saw you die in Moria”, he sobbed.

"No, Mr. Frodo. He survived and he's here now to help take care of us. He's goin' ta take us home, Mr. Frodo," Sam's voice shook with emotion. Frodo's face slowly hardened in anger and hurt betrayal. It was then that he spied the orc approaching, stealthily, off from the right.

"LIAR!" he spat. It is a trick of the Ring," he said gasping. Then a strange, vacant look filled his features as if he had seemingly slipped into a dream. He looked again at Sam and Gandalf as if seeing them for the first time. A look of deep sadness filled his eyes. "He is dead. And if you are with him, dear Sam, that means you are dead as well," he sobbed.

"No, Master, he is *alive*. *I* am alive, please come to me," Sam said beseechingly, losing his battle at remaining calm.

"It is no matter, my Sam. Shortly, very shortly, we will again walk side by side with Gandalf and all the others that have been lost; they will be there with us. There will be no more pain...no Ringspell to fight... no worries for what is or what is not to be," he whispered to himself. Weeping and speaking softly to himself he turned slightly, facing the chasm. His legs, which had held him up for so long, lost their battle and buckled, causing him to drop Sting onto the stones below him. The sword fell for what seemed like forever, finally ringing with a clang as it struck the sixth level, one hundred feet below. He wavered for only a second, his eyes rolled up into his head and then he fell. Around him there was only blackness, a loud whooshing noise filled his mind until finally he was lost to the deep and endless void.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Smoke and Mirrors

Chapter 8

Aragorn moved with the speed of one possessed. He lunged towards the Ringbearer as Frodo lost consciousness and began his fall from the wall surrounding the Citadel. Sam and Gandalf had made an equally rapid approach, but it was Aragorn who grasped the small form of their dear friend, about the waist. Frodo was not however, the only person in danger at that time. As Aragorn lunged, the quickness and force of his approach had swung him low over the wall. Gandalf quickly stepped forward and pulled both of them back, landing in a heap on the pavement at Sam's feet. Sam was beside himself with worry and was weeping hysterically. He reached out for his Master as Aragorn settled Frodo gently to the ground. It was now obvious why Frodo had collapsed and nearly fallen to his death, for he was in the throes of another convulsion.

"Sam, stand back just a little and let's make some room for them," said Gandalf softly. Aragorn had torn a swath of fabric from his tunic and placed it between Frodo's teeth. The frail Ringbearer writhed and jerked, striking his head repeatedly. Gandalf moved and placed the hobbit's head on his robe to somehow cushion the blows. Frodo's arms struck out, spasmodically striking Aragorn in the face. The King leaned over the hobbit, trying to limit the damage the small soul might do to himself. Finally, after what seemed like hours to Sam, the seizure diminished and then stopped. Aragorn carefully rolled Frodo over onto his side as he retched. He was unable to even bring forth bile, although he gagged many times. Giving out a weak moan he collapsed onto his back. "While he is yet unconscious, I wish to cool him by the fountain," Aragorn said, breathing raggedly. They moved as one to the fountain. Sam produced a clean handkerchief from his breeches pocket and Aragorn dipped it into the crystal clear fountain. First, he wrung out the cloth then pressed it to Frodo's parched lips. Frodo made a subconscious effort to suck the cool water from the proffered handkerchief. This caused Aragorn to smile slightly and he glanced up at Sam and Gandalf. "It is a good sign," said Aragorn. He re-wet the cloth and let the drops of water slowly fall into Frodo's mouth. These were swallowed equally slowly as Frodo's throat make a small clicking sound. Aragorn peered into the small mouth. "He has many bite marks on his tongue and lips," he said frowning. "He has endured many seizures, it would seem."

Sam looked up at Aragorn with pleading eyes. "But he'll be all right now, right Mr. Strider?" he asked.

"I do not know, Sam," Aragorn said sadly. "Seizures can leave their victims with brain damage sometimes. He may not have the needed strength to survive this illness, coming so soon after his ordeal in Mordor."

Sam's face twisted in anger at this statement. "No, not Mr. Frodo," he cried heatedly. "You can't tell me, after all he's been through, that there's no hope." He glared at Aragorn as if daring him to refute this.

Aragorn smiled over at Sam. "I only meant to be honest with you Sam. There is *always* hope, my friend. Frodo has a strong will to survive. We will do everything within our power to save him," he squeezed Sam's shoulder in affection. Sam smiled weakly back at him. Aragorn began washing Frodo's feverish face then moved down his neck and chest. "We need to get him out of these wet clothes and then bind this hand," Aragorn said. He removed the cloak and nightshirt and washed the, now naked, hobbit gently. Frodo shivered uncontrollably.

"Here, I will keep him warm," said Gandalf. He knelt down and pulled the Ringbearer into the voluminous folds of his brilliant white robes. Frodo seemed as a small child nestled in the loving arms of the great wizard. Gandalf began a slow rocking motion. Frodo's shivering seemed to lessen as he snuggled deeply into the garment, all of him covered save his small pinched face. Aragorn took the handkerchief and bathed the right hand, wrung it out and made a makeshift bandage to staunch the blood flow from the finger.

"We need to move quickly to the Houses of Healing so that we might try to work a miracle for our small friend here." He smoothed back Frodo's sweat drenched curls, gathered up the wet clothing and placed Sam back on his hip. Then with Gandalf in front, they strode rapidly down to the sixth level. They entered the Houses of Healing in quick time and bore Frodo to the hobbit quarters. Saleth met them in the hall and quickly called for a tepid bath and various herbal remedies. In Frodo's absence the bed had been made up with clean linens and pillows. Gandalf continued to cradle the hobbit within his warm embrace as the bath was poured. Aragorn gently placed Sam on the bed and took Frodo from Gandalf. He and Saleth slowly lowered him into the bath. Frodo's eyes popped open in panic as the water made contact with his skin.

"Wha...who..are...youuu? Lea..me..be!" he whispered weakly.

"No Frodo, you are safe. And we shall not 'leave your be.' It is I, Aragorn and Saleth...and look ....Sam is with us as well," Aragorn said softly. He turned towards Sam. "Sam, come over here so that he may see you." Sam was so relieved to be doing something for his Master, he almost fell from the bed in his hurry to get to his side.

"Mr. Frodo, me dear, it's your Sam. You just lie still and let these healers do for you and soon you'll be up in no time," Sam said softly as he stroked Frodo's left hand. Sam looked awful, thought Aragorn. It had all been just too much for the devoted gardener, and too soon. Sam had only just awakened from an exhausted sleep after the arduous trip through Mordor. _Somehow we must get him to rest or he will soon collapse and suffer a relapse_ , Aragorn mused.

"Sssam? Is that you?" Frodo whispered

"Aye, Mr. Frodo. It's your Sam, and I'm here beside you," Sam whispered, his face breaking into a smile of relief as he clutched Frodo's left hand tighter.

"Don't let them touch me, Sam. They aren't what they appear to be. It's a trick of the Ring," Frodo whispered urgently. He clutched tightly at Sam's hand and tried to rise from the bathtub. Sam pushed him gently back down.

"It's alright, Master. The Ring is destroyed and I won't let anyone hurt you ever again," Sam stated firmly, gazing sadly into Frodo's eyes.

"You won't leave me?" Frodo mumbled. Sam grimaced at this, remembering Cirith Ungol.

"No Master, I'll not leave you, no matter what," he said firmly.

Seemingly reassured Frodo sighed deeply, "I had the strangest dream about you and Gandalf..." he mumbled. Gandalf smiled at that.

"I wonder if I should make myself scarce until this one is more fully recovered or risk further shock to his system." He caressed the damp curls. "My dear, dear hobbit," he whispered. They lifted Frodo gently from the now cool bath and wrapped him in fluffy towels. Aragorn carried him to the bed. Saleth brought over the nightshirt and slipped it over Frodo's head, then covered him in many blankets.

"I think we should attend to this hand now," said Aragorn. "Saleth, while I do this could you examine the rest of him more thoroughly?" he asked.

Of course, my Liege", he replied. Slowly Saleth ran his hands over the back of Frodo's head. Next he moved down his arms and legs until he was satisfied he had not missed anything. "He has multiple swellings on the back of his head, and cuts and abrasions completely cover his arms and legs. I will apply an ointment to quell any infection that might occur." he said.

Aragorn nodded in agreement. As Aragorn slowly unwrapped the handkerchief from the Ringbearer's hand, he looked up at the healer. "Are you well, Saleth?" he asked.

"I am, my Lord. Thank you for attending to my needs earlier and for allowing me a much needed rest," he said smiling.

Aragorn smiled in return. "We are our own worst enemies when trying to battle illness and fatigue. It was my honor to assist one who has helped so many of my people through so many hard times," he said.

Saleth was completely dumbfounded. He felt completely unworthy of such a statement. To have the King himself feel honor at attending someone such as he... a simple healer? Saleth once again, said thanks to Eru for their new King.

Aragorn had finally unwrapped the hand and saw that it was still bleeding freely. "This will never heal like this," he said. "I regret to say we may have to cauterize it to stop the bleeding and infection. Frodo's already so weak and I fear part of this is from lack of blood. If left to heal on its own I believe an infection could set in and take him from us." He looked up at Saleth. "I do not wish to cause him further pain, but I am at a loss for any other way to treat the injury."

Saleth grimaced. "I too, do not wish to torture the Ringbearer, yet it is, quite possibly, our only alternative. We need to focus on his 'brain fever' infection before it rages beyond our skills to heal. We truly have no other choice," he said sadly.

Sam had been listening to the exchange and was becoming more and more agitated as they spoke. "What are you talkin' about, sirs? What are you goin' to do to him?" he asked looking at the men with suspicion and dread.

"Sam, we need to stop the bleeding and this will also keep the bone in his ring finger from becoming infected," whispered Aragorn gently. "To do this we will need to 'brand' the end of his finger, I am sorry."

"Sorry? Sorry! No, you'll not do that to me Master! He'll die for sure if you do somethin' like that to him," Sam said angrily. He moved between Aragorn and Frodo not unlike a sow would do to protect her cub, creating a barrier between the two.

"I *am* sorry, Sam. I care for Frodo too. He is my friend, as well." Aragorn's eyes were wet with tears as he tried to make Sam understand. "If we do not do this, he will bleed to death. If we do this, it will stop the bleeding and we can turn all our efforts to curing him of his illness. The *more* time we waste trying to stop the bleeding, the *less* time we have to stop the fever. He will gradually become weaker and will be unable to fight the disease. Then he will die, Sam. You must understand."

Sam had never really seen Aragorn so emotional, and this moved him to tears. The thought of his dear Master dying caused Sam to step back and allow Aragorn to proceed. Aragorn nodded to Sam who now looked very frightened and tired. The King looked up at Saleth. "My friend, we will need the reed and funnel that I requested earlier."

"It is prepared by the bedside, my Lord, as I left it," said the healer.

"Very well. We shall need some Valerian root to sedate him before we start the cauterization. Black current, althelas and echinacia teas will also be needed along with a light broth for later," Aragorn said with a contemplative look on his features.

"I agree, my Lord. For a patient of his size to be sedated, only a very small amount of the Valerian root would be necessary. I will make an emulsion in tepid water and return shortly," Saleth bowed and left the room.

"How will you do it?" asked Sam quietly.

"Ummm...what Sam?" Aragorn, lost in thought as he continued to apply pressure to the finger.

"How will you caut..cautrrr..fix Mr. Frodo's finger," Sam asked tentatively.

"Sam, perhaps you should eat and rest. It's been a very long and hard day for you. You've only just recovered yourself, my friend," Aragorn said, trying to avoid the details of Frodo's upcoming procedure.

"Your Majesty and no offense intended, but you must tell me what you're gonna do ta him," implored Sam.

"Sam...," Aragorn began, but seeing the look on Sam's face, decided to avoid the inevitable argument were the question unanswered. "Very well, Sam," he said softly, sighing. "We will first sedate Frodo, if we can get him to take the Valerian root. Then we will cleanse the area around the ring finger with althelas water." Aragorn swallowed slowly and looked back into Sam's eyes. "Then we will take a specially forged iron made for wounds of this kind, heat it in very hot coals until it glows white and press it against the stump of the finger." He finished saying all of this in barely a whisper.

Sam's eyes had grown wide and filled with unshed tears as Aragorn had continued the description of the procedure. "You say there's no other way?...and that he will die if we don't do this?" he rasped.

"Yes Sam, he has already lost too much blood and we need to concentrate all our efforts on healing the other infection before he will be too weak to recover." Aragorn reached out and gathered Sam to him. Sam sobbed openly as he clutched at Aragorn who rocked him in a soothing rhythm. Saleth returned at that point and with the asked for teas, broth and Valerian root emulsion. He also had a long iron rod that was flat on one end which he placed in the coals, fanning them until they glowed. Gandalf took Sam from Aragorn's arms and started to walk out into the hallway.

"No, Mr. Gandalf, sir" Sam gulped, "I still mean to stay by him."

"Are you sure of this Samwise?" Sam gulped and nodded. "Very well, but it will not be an easy thing for you to watch," said Gandalf softly.

Taking the Valerian root extract, Aragorn approached Frodo's bedside. "Saleth, your assistance please," he said.

"Yes, my Lord." Saleth moved into position behind Frodo and held him tightly across the chest. Then, using his right hand he pried Frodo's mouth open. Aragorn poured a swallow of the mixture into the Ringbearer's mouth.

Frodo reacted immediately to the bitter root mixture- coughing, sputtering and trying to turn away from the healer's firm grip. He swallowed and his eyes flew open. "Nooo...please, no more. I cannot tell you anything. It is gone. Please leave me to die," he slurred.

Aragorn nodded to Saleth who tightened his hold on the Ringbearer. He pinched Frodo's nose closed with one hand and pried his mouth open with the other. Aragorn poured more of the drug into the gasping hobbit until he swallowed, then Saleth released his nose and mouth allowing him to breathe. This continued until most of the extract was gone and Frodo was clearly feeling the effects of the brew. He still moaned and plead to be left alone, but his complaints became weaker and weaker until his whole body sagged and slumped over against the healer.

"I believe we are ready," said Saleth.

"Let's get this over with," said Aragorn, his jaw set in a determined line. He rose and retrieved the bowl with the althelas water and thoroughly washed the Frodo's right hand. So very small, he thought, not unlike a child's. He grimaced and forced himself to retrieve the iron from the hot coals. It glowed white. Sam had been looking on, but now turned his face into Gandalf's shoulder as he was overcome with heartfelt sobs. Gandalf continued to softly rub his back and rock him.

"It will be quick, Samwise," he said. Taking a deep breath Aragorn brought the iron slowly up to the bleeding finger and, swallowing hard, he pressed it against the stub.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

Smoke and Mirrors

Chapter 9

 _Frodo stood above a large precipice. Around him, the air was filled with the acrid smoke and heat from the fires burning far below him. He panted, trying to force some air into his burning lungs. He drew closer and looked down into the roiling fires of Orodruin. He heard a noise behind him and saw Sam staggering towards him. He knew now it was too late to save himself. As he gazed at his loyal friend, the Ring screamed and pulled at his soul. It promised him great power and above all, happiness. It showed him a lush Shire complete with the happy laughter of hobbits frolicking in the verdant green meadows. Bag End would be his again, and he saw Sam, Merry and Pippin with their children; happy and healthy living the gentle life within their smials. He knew, in some dark corner of his mind, that all he saw was a lie. But the Ring's call was insistent--showing him a peace and contentment that lay over all of Middle Earth, if he would but lay claim to It. His *new* Master would take care of him now. He would no longer feel the pain, anguish and heartache that was so much a part of his current existence. Many other things were promised, all of them a delight to the senses, if he would but yield to the power of the Master of the One. Frodo heard and felt all these sensations flood through his very soul and gazed down at the glowing band that lay in his open palm. He looked up at Sam, "I have come," he said. "But I do not choose to do what I came to do. I will not do this deed. The Ring is MINE!"* Then he placed the Ring on his finger and vanished. Sam gasped as he saw his Master vanish but before he could reach him, Gollum attacked him from behind. He *knew* what 'Master' intended to do with the Precious. First, however, he intended to dispose of the 'fat hobbit' for the last time. Taking a large rock, he struck Sam down, rendering him unconscious. Then he stealthily approached the Master. He could not allow him to destroy the Precious. He saw that the Master had vanished meaning he had put the Ring on his finger, but Gollum had seen where he had stood moments before and groped about feeling for Frodo. At last, he found him and a fierce struggle began between the two Ringbearers. Gollum found the offending hand and, splaying the fingers wide, bit down on the ring finger bearing the Precious, with all his might. A high-pitched shriek of agony issued from Frodo's mouth as bone and tissue were rent asunder._

 _*from Return of the King  
_

 __*******************************************************************

The shriek issued from Frodo was one of agony and loss. Frodo's eyes went impossibly wide, his whole body shuddering convulsively. Fresh sweat was upon his brow and lip as he continued to shriek in pain. Merry and Pippin had been sleeping soundly but now lurched up from the bed, clutching each other, as the shrieks echoed off the walls around them. Their faces were very pale, eyes wide with tears and they were panting as if they had just run a great race. "What are you doing to him? Are you MAD----you're TORTURING him!" shouted Merry. Pippin held close to his Merry, trembling in fear. The scene before them was unimaginable. Aragorn, their dear friend and protector, was torturing Frodo with a glowing brand!

"You're burning him! Strider, STOP! Why are you hurting Frodo?" screamed Pippin.

Gandalf moved swiftly to the hysterical hobbits, still holding Sam, who was unusually still against his shoulder. Gandalf turned so that he could see the small gardener's face. It was deathly pale; his eyes had rolled up into his head, his breathing now only shallow gasps. Gandalf motioned to Saleth, who called another healer into the room to attend the small folk. The healer placed a hand on Sam's forehead as Gandalf laid him gently on the other bed.

"He has lost consciousness and is in shock," the healer said. "We must get him warmed and raise his feet," he continued with a note of urgency.

Blankets and pillows were brought and Sam was settled. His breathing gradually became more normal and his eyelids began to flutter. Large tears rolled down his cheeks as he remembered what had to be done to save Frodo’s life. Gandalf sat between the beds, one hand softly stroking Sam's arm, trying to explain the situation to Merry and Pippin. They calmed a bit but their eyes were still fixed on Aragorn, a look of abject horror on their faces. Sam was trying to sit up. Gandalf gently pushed him back down, and whispered soothingly to him. "There, there, Sam...You’ve had quite a day and the shock was too much for you. You need to lie back now. Frodo is all right. He is in a lot of pain, but the healers will help him deal with it. You must rest, my dear hobbit, in order to better serve your Master," he soothed.

Sam looked up at Gandalf. "Will he be all right now?" he asked softly.

"They are attending him, you can not help him by becoming ill yourself, Sam. Please sleep." Gandalf nodded to the healer who then brought over a cordial to help Sam rest. Sam took the cordial and after a few sips, lost his battle with exhaustion and allowed his eyes to slowly close. Gandalf smiled and placed a kiss upon his curly head. Merry and Pip continued to watch in disbelief at what was being done to their cousin. Gandalf knelt before them, "There is little you can do for Frodo now, although he will need you very much, later. You should rest so that you will be ready for him at that time," soothed Gandalf.

"Aragorn said he would wake me," Merry said petulantly.

"He has been occupied trying to save Frodo's life, Merry. He still is. You must understand that," said Gandalf.

Merry's face changed from one of anger to worry for his cousin. ”Will Frodo live?" he asked.

"They are doing all they can to save him, Meriadoc. Worry not...Aragorn and Saleth are *helping* Frodo although it may not appear so just now," Gandalf said solemnly. Merry and Pippen gave skeptical looks at Gandalf. They were not ready to rest, wanting to watch and make sure Frodo was treated with utmost care and gentleness. Gandalf saw this, and moved to place pillows and blankets around them. He made a comfortable niche from which they could view the proceedings without interfering. He smiled and caressed each small head with his right hand. Aragorn removed the iron and cast it aside; he placed a cool cloth against the now charred finger. Frodo's eyes began to close, tears ran down his face when he suddenly retched the Valerian extract in a great gush over the linens and himself. He whimpered, as his face and chest were wiped clean.

Aragorn applied the balm to the blackened stump--- _a wound *I* created_ , he thought. Feelings of guilt and self- loathing rose within him at what he had had to do to Frodo. He felt like a monster inflicting fresh agony on the one being he thought bravest of all. Frodo's eyes rolled up into his head and the shivering that wracked his body, became more violent. His face was pale, yet still feverish, his breathing coming in ragged gasps. "He is going into shock!" Aragorn said quickly. "We must have more blankets and pillows and brew that black currant tea now," he said with urgency. Saleth began making the tea with the hot water sitting by the fire. Blankets and pillows were brought and placed beneath the frail hobbit's feet. "Saleth, let's put the reed and funnel in now so we can get these medicines into him quickly, before he is lost to us." cried Aragorn.

"Yes, my Lord. They are ready. Would you prefer that I do the procedure, your Highness?" Aragorn looked up into Saleth's eyes. Saleth could see how the strain of the cauterization had left the King shaken. "Perhaps you are to closely involved with the little one to remain objective, my Liege." Saleth said softly. He knew he was speaking above his station but was willing to risk the King's ire if it would spare his Lord more anguish.

Aragorn appeared angry at first, but then his features softened, and his eyes filled with a great sadness. "Perhaps you are right, Saleth. I do have a very difficult time remaining objective where Frodo is concerned," he whispered. "Thank you for being brave enough to speak to me so."

Saleth nodded. He moved to the tray where the funnel and reed lay. "First perhaps, we should bind him. It would be most unfortunate if the Ringbearer were to struggle and pull the reed out, after we were successful in its placement," he said.

Aragorn nodded his assent and retrieved padding and gauze strips to secure the hobbit in place. First, he took small pillows, placing them on either side of Frodo's feverish face and tied them in place, securing them to the bed rails with a long gauze strip across Frodo's forehead. Then he moved to do the same with the Ringbearer’s arms, legs and torso. Once secure, he moved to Frodo's head and tipped it back slightly. Frodo moaned and struggled weakly, attempting to free himself from the restraints. Saleth took the reed, coated it in light oil, then with his right hand, slowly slipped it into the Frodo’s mouth. He moved past the tongue and guided it down the reddened throat. With his remaining strength, Frodo twisted and writhed, arching his back up off the mattress. He gagged and retched as the reed slipped past his tongue. Saleth, undeterred, continued feeding the tube down the small throat until he felt he had placed it correctly. He bent and placed his head to the chest of the hobbit. His sharp hearing detected soft breath sounds issuing from the small form. He looked up at Aragorn, "I feel it has been placed correctly. His lungs sound clear," he said. Aragorn nodded. Next, a gauze strip was secured around the reed and tied so it could not be pulled out. Saleth attached the small funnel to the end protruding out from Frodo's lips. Frodo gave up his struggle and his eyes slipped half shut. Slowly, Saleth poured spoonfuls of the currant tea into the funnel. Frodo's eyes cracked open and he tried to talk making an 'umph' sound and then he whimpered.

"We shall have to be careful to only give him small amounts so he will not vomit," commented Aragorn.

"I agree, my Lord."

"I wish also to give him an infusion of willow bark tea to try and bring his fever down," the King added. "And give him more of the athelas and echinacea teas as well, to fight the infection, and perhaps extract of passion flower or more Valerian root for sleep. The athelas brew can be difficult to hold on an empty stomach but is also a good tea to induce sleep," the King continued.

Saleth smiled a little to himself as Aragorn spoke. "I thought perhaps after we had given him the currant tea, we might try the broth," Saleth commented.

Aragorn could see that Saleth clearly had matters under control and began to relax a little. Frodo's glazed eyes fixed on Aragorn and Aragorn moved closer to try to comfort his friend. "Frodo, do you know who I am?" he asked gently, softly combing his fingers through the dark curls. Frodo only stared at him, his eyes glazed and unseeing. Aragorn sighed. Perhaps later, he thought. “He is locked in delirium and now, this…” Aragorn motioned to the charred finger. “He has been through so much.” With a sad smile, Aragorn turned his attentions to Merry and Pippin. "I am sorry there was no time to speak with you before Frodo's procedure. It was important to move fast in order to stop the bleeding," he said.

"How could you do that to Frodo?" Pippin whispered, tears in his eyes.

Merry nudged Pippin in the side. "Pippin, we woke while they were in the middle of it, I'm sure it wasn't as brutal as it seemed," he reasoned.

"No Merry, Pippin is right. It was coldly brutal, but there was no other way to save Frodo's life. If he had continued to bleed, he would have died either from blood loss or from the fever. We needed to concentrate on the fever and this seemed the only way to stop the bleeding so we could do so. I shall never forgive myself for hurting Frodo, even though my actions were only in his best interests. I felt like a monster tormenting him so," his voice quavered. Aragorn slowly rose, looking forlorn and beaten, and moved to the doorway as tears flowed down his face, and left the hobbits room.

Pippin's green eyes were full of tears; he looked at Merry in alarm. "Oh, Merry...what have I said...what have I *done*?" he whispered. Merry wrapped his arms around his small cousin as Pip sobbed uncontrollably into his chest.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Smoke and Mirrors

Chapter 10

Aragorn stepped from the hobbits quarters and walked down the corridor, a man carrying a heavy burden. His head hung down and he did not acknowledge those who passed him. He had promised Faramir he would inform him when Frodo had been found, and that was where he now headed. He was bone weary from the hunt, capture and treatment of Frodo's injuries, but could not allow his emotions to be on open display. He looked up and spied a doorway leading into a small room and made for it, seeking solitude in order to better collect his thoughts and feelings as they threatened to overcome him. The room was lit by a solitary candle and, for a moment, he allowed his eyes to take in the scene before him. In the center of the room was a large table upon which sat flasks and various finely made glass containers. To one side of the glassware a fragrant concoction was brewing over a low burner. He stepped closer and recognized the heady aroma of athelas, a thick green goo was being distilled from the healing plant. After the distillation process the mixture would be used as a balm for wounds and cuts. Indeed, until Aragorn had requested the athelas for the treatment of the wounded on Pelennor field, the plant had rarely been found and was thought of only as a weed. Now, great stores of it hung drying from the rafters over Aragorn's head. After word had spread of how the King had used the plant to cure so many, the citizens had scoured the countryside and transplanted all they could find into the gardens at the Houses of Healing. The room held the heavy aroma of drying flowers and vines. He closed his eyes and breathed in the sweet fragrance of the various drying herbs, roots and flowers used for the many maladies afflicting the patients who now resided there. A rich bouquet of lavender, calendula, athelas and mint intermixed with the loamy smell of various roots and tubers permeated the small storage room. He opened his eyes and surveyed the vast shelves lined with glass containers and vials of powders, dried leaves, elixirs, tonics and extracts all clearly marked so as to be found quickly by each healer. Aragorn leaned against the wall and slipped slowly down to the floor. He finally could allow himself the release of the emotions that threatened to burst forth from him. He began to weep in earnest now that he was out of the public eye. It would not be seemly for the King to be seen as weak by the shedding of tears. It had been long since Aragorn had allowed himself the luxury of the emotion, always appearing grim and stoic to all he met. But now he was unable to stop the great surge of feelings that shook his body. Great sobs and gasps issued from his mouth. He remained like that for sometime until he felt totally spent. Once in control, he gathered himself up and, using a cloth from a basin of cool water, washed his face. Feeling more composed he made to leave the room, giving one last look back at the array of drying herbs. He inhaled deeply, one final time, drinking in the sweet bouquet. He closed the door and proceeded on down the corridor to Faramir's quarters.

***********

Saleth had had little recourse but to remain behind and care for his patient as the King had slowly exited the room. He was deeply concerned for the mental and physical well being of his Liege Lord. Pippin continued to weep while Merry spoke to him in soothing tones and finger combed his tangled curls. The weeping became sobs which became small hiccupping noises until finally the smallest one was all but silent.

"Saleth, please tell us all the details of Frodo's 'cure' so that we might better understand what we saw happening," he whispered.

"Very well, Master Periannath," he said slowly. "The Ringbearer was brought to us only moments before you awoke. His fever was very high and he was very weak. Much of the weakness, we felt, was due to blood loss as his ring finger was still bleeding profusely." He looked up and locked eyes with Pippin. "The Lord and I felt we had to decide on how best to serve Frodo. We could try to staunch the bleeding with bandages, but if he continued to bleed he would grow weaker and perish. Or we could cauterize the wound, stopping the bleeding once and for all, and then devote all of our efforts to curing him of the fever. We chose the latter. The King, and myself, were want to use this extreme measure but there was little recourse, and we needed to act quickly in order to save Master Baggin's life. That was when you awoke and saw what must have appeared to you, a great act of cruelty being inflicted upon your cousin." His eyes were sad as he turned back to his charge, now spooning small sips of broth into the funnel protruding from Frodo's pale lips.

Pippin gazed at Frodo. His cousin was incased in pillows, blankets and gauzing. He was white as alabaster and his eyes lay half open, unseeing. "How is he?" asked Pippin.

"He is doing better than we had chanced to hope. We have been giving him an assortment of teas to stem the pain and infection plus small amounts of broth to help him regain his strength," replied the healer. "I will be bathing him again shortly to try, once again, to break the fever." As Saleth finished the feeding, he removed the funnel but left the reed in place. He turned and spoke to another healer and hot water was brought, mixed with cold and placed into a small copper tub. Gradually, he unwound the gauzing and pillows and set them aside to be reused as restraints once the Ringbearer was cleansed. Carefully, he and the other healer carried the limp form to the tub and gently began bathing him. Frodo sighed contentedly as the cool water and lavender soap were worked through his hair and over his body. The linens and blankets were changed as he soaked in the cool bath. After a few moments he was gathered up in fluffy towels, a clean nightshirt fitted over his small frame, and layed gently on the new bedding. Pillows and gauze were arranged as before, the restraints tied firmly yet gently to the bed's wooden railing. Saleth bent and examined the ring finger. Seeing that it was not bleeding, he reapplied the balm then re-bandaged it. "The shaking has diminished somewhat, a good sign," Saleth said with a smile, aimed at his cousins. "He seems to be resting more calmly, yet we will still keep him sedated while the feeding tube is in place." Saleth reattached the funnel and a thin, white, watery brew was slowly spooned into it. This was followed by the athelas and willow bark teas, each flavored heavily with honey. "He should sleep for many hours. We will continue with more teas and broth a little later," he said, speaking with the other healer. As they conversed they turned and left the room and walked down the corridor. Pippin and Merry had watched all of this with great interest. They were alone in the room now with Frodo, Gandalf having left to see how Captain Faramir was doing.

Pippin's face began to soften as he realized how badly he had misjudged Aragorn. An idea began to form in his mind, and he looked about the room. In the corner he spied his livery from the Steward. The hauberk had been polished until each of the small black rings glistened. The leggings had been cleaned and folded neatly, and the helm sat atop them, the small wings on its sides sparkling like jewels. He set his jaw and made to move off of the bed. Merry stopped him by pulling him against his chest.

"Pippin, what are you doing? You have to remain perfectly still until your leg heals or the bones won't set right," Merry said softly.

"No, Merry. I have made a grievous error and an injustice has been done to my very good friend, who is also my King. I need to apologize to Strider for the awful things I said. What he must think of me...," Pippin whispered his eyes tearing.

"No, you silly Took. He knows you didn't mean anything by it. You can't go off, stumbling around on one leg, trying to find him," Merry exclaimed. Pippin's face clouded as he looked at Merry.

"Yes, I must and I will, Merry. And if you won't help me then I'll just have to do it by myself," Pippin said, slowly slipping his legs over the edge of the bed until he touched the floor. His face paled and he broke out in a sweat, his arms and legs trembling with the effort. His vision clouded and black spots appeared before his eyes, he shook his head to clear them. Merry was trying to reach out to stop him, but Pippin would have none of it, hopping back on his good leg until he was out of reach.

Merry decided to try reasoning with his cousin. "Pippin," he said softly, "Please come back to bed. I can go fetch Aragorn for you." Pippin, however, was beyond reason. He had decided he needed to find Strider to apologize, not wanting Strider to have to come to him. He hopped past Merry and approached his livery. "PIPPIN!" Merry cried, jumping down from the bed, he grabbed his cousin and pulled him to him. Pippin leaned into him panting from the effort to reach his clothing.

"No, Merry. You don't understand," he gasped. A sheen of sweat now coated his face and hair, causing it to cling to his face. "I accused Strider of torturing Frodo and I *must* find him, not the other way around." He looked pleadingly at Merry. "Please, *help* me. I don't care about my leg right now, this is more important. Strider protected us and cared for us all through our journey, and I have done a great disservice to him that I can not live with." Pippins face took on a stern demeanor. Merry would have laughed to see his cousin so, if the situation were not so grim. "As a soldier of Gondor I demand you assist me!" he said with authority.

Merry's eyebrows went up at this, and a small smile played over his lips. "Very well, Pip. But there are conditions to me assisting you." Pippin looked skeptical.

"I'm against this, but I know how you are when you get that look in your eye. First, you will need a crutch to walk with and you will lean the rest of your weight on me," he smiled grimly. "We'll go see Strider and then we'll come right back here, ok?" Pippin gave a shaky nod. "If we're very lucky Saleth will never know we were gone," Merry looked at Pippin hopefully.

Pippin smiled wanly, "Help me get dressed, Mer," he whispered.

Merry gave his cousin a sad look, and turned his face so Pip could not see the unshed tears in his eyes. "All right, Pip." he said trying to sound cheerful. He retrieved the livery and brought it to Pippin. Slowly he pulled the hauberk over Pip's nightshirt then added the surcoat with the symbol of the white tree on the front of it. He placed the helm on Pippin's sweaty head and gently helped Pippin step into the black leggings made especially for his cousin. Pippin blanched while getting into the leggings, the pain being excruciating. Tears silently flowed down his face. Merry's eyes dampened upon seeing the obvious pain Pippin was subjecting himself to, but he bit back the tears and instead smiled weakly up at his cousin. "Ready Pip?" he asked with forced cheerfulness.

"Ready, I just need my scabbard," Pip said with a slur. He was having an increasingly difficult time fighting back the blackness that threatened to enfold him. The scabbard was placed on his belt and Merry placed Pip's arm about his shoulder. Pip leaned heavily on Merry, and using a small stick, balanced himself. Gamely, they hobbled across the room, glancing at Frodo as he slept, and exited their quarters. They began the long walk down the corridor to Faramir's room.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

Smoke and Mirrors

Chapter 11

Faramir lay on a large bed, his leg propped on two pillows. He groaned mentally at being confined thusly, wanting to help in the search for Frodo. He heard footsteps approaching and forced himself to relax, closing his eyes and feigning sleep. When the footsteps stopped at the entrance to his room and he felt eyes lingering on him, he cautiously cracked his eyes open to see who the visitor was. His eyes flew open upon seeing Aragorn leaning against the door frame, smiling down at him. "Aragorn! Have you found him? Is he well? Where is he? Can I not go to him?" Faramir cried, rising up on his elbows.

Aragorn held his hands up to stop the onslaught of questions. He smiled widely. "It would appear the sleeping draught ordered has failed to accomplish it's goal," he said smiling.

"I held it in my mouth until the healer left, then spat it into the chamber pot," Faramir declared irritably.

"I see. As to your many questions...yes, we found Frodo. He is down the corridor and is doing well---better than we had hoped, at any rate. But he has had some grievous wounds to attend to." Here Aragorn's face became grim and he winced. "We had to cauterize the stump of his ring finger," he said quietly.

"Sweet Eru," whispered Faramir. "He survived though, and is recovering?" Faramir asked anxiously.

"Yes, he survived, but is far from healed, I fear. The fever has exacted a great toll on his already frail health. He is very weak, both from blood loss and the illness. We have him sedated and are feeding him his medicines and broth through a feeding tube. If we could but break the fever and stop the convulsions, there might still be hope for a recovery," murmured Aragorn. "You may see him, if the healer grants permission for you to rise," smiled Aragorn.

"Let them try and stop me." Faramir reached to the side of the bed where a sturdy set of crutches stood against the wall, pulling them to him. He sat up fully, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He paled visibly as dizziness threatened to overcome him.

"Perhaps, you should have taken the tonic after all, my friend," Aragorn said with concern, reaching out to steady the steward.

"No...I am all right. It is merely a side effect of lying about, I am sure. Give me but a moment to catch my breath. I will not allow a little dizziness to keep me from seeing Frodo," he said slowly.

Aragorn nodded, but still wondered if this was a wise course of action. Faramir had probably lost more blood than he thought. Perhaps he should recant the promised visit to see Frodo, and require him to stay in his bed. Faramir was a strong warrior, but Aragorn feared by acting too hastily, he would reopen the wound and start the bleeding anew. He watched him with concern as the color, once again, began to infuse back into his pale face. A noise behind him caused him to turn and he tried to choke back a cry. Standing in Faramir's doorway was Merry, looking completely drained, his face a rictus of pain, supporting the full weight of a nearly unconscious Pippin, dressed in the full livery of Gondor. Pippin was in obvious distress, his pale face coated in a sheen of sweat, his eyes glazed and over bright. Pain was etched into his small face as he stepped forwards on his good leg to address the King.

"PIPPIN! MERRY! What is the meaning of this! What are you doing about?" exclaimed the King, more concerned than angered.

"He was insistent, and you know how he can be...how hard it is to stop him when he's like that," panted Merry.

"Pippin! Your leg. Know you not what you have done? The bones were knitting, now they could well be displaced and will need to be reset!" The King knelt down and tried to gather Pippin to him.

Pippin hopped back shakily on his good leg, leaving the King with his arms outstretched, yet empty. "No...no you...see, Sire," he slurred. "I must...must...be allowed to ...speak, please." It came out in a bare whisper, Pippin licking his lips and slurring badly.

"My Lord, perhaps if he's allowed to speak we then could return him to his room before further damage is done," Faramir said quietly, giving Pippin a look of mingled astonishment yet open admiration and respect. It must have meant a great deal to this little one, to have made the long journey down the corridor to seek out his King, he thought.

Merry nodded, "Please, Strider, he needs to say what's on his mind then we will return to our room. Will you not hear him?" he asked, a pleading expression on his face. Merry was deeply concerned about his Pip. As they had progressed down the corridor, Pippin had become less and less talkative, until he had stopped speaking altogether and all Merry could hear were small sobs and moans with each successive step. By the time they had reached Faramir's room, Pippin was leaning completely on Merry, a dead weight in his arms.

The sound of running footsteps interrupted the meeting as Saleth and another healer, appeared suddenly in the doorway behind the two hobbits. "My Lord. We went in to check on the Ringbearer and discovered only he and Samwise, still both resting, in the room. We made for Captain Faramir's room knowing that you would be here and of Master Took's great desire to have an audience with you," he panted. He looked at Pippin noting his current state of semi-consciousness, his eyes lingering on the crushed leg. "Oh....Eru save us," he murmured. He could see without even approaching Pippin any closer, that he had re-fractured the broken leg, blood saturated the leggings. He looked at Merry and saw, with deep sadness, that Merry too, was in great pain from supporting the weight of his cousin on his injured arm. "We must get them back to their beds quickly and assess the damage," he urged reaching out towards Pippin.

"No...not ..till..I've ... spoken with the...King," Pippin said slowly, batting away the healer's outstretched hands..

"Very well, Master Took, speak," said Aragorn with mock sternness. He wished to hasten this encounter and then see to the hobbits injuries. He felt deep remorse knowing that he had, in all probability, triggered this venture from the conversation he and Pip had had earlier.

"Mer, you..must...help me," Pip said slowly, looking up into Merry's eyes imploringly. "I need to kneel."

Merry gasped, tears running down his face, "No, Pip. You mustn't. It will hurt you horribly. You will cause more damage to your poor leg!" he cried.

"I must. I will do it without... you if you... won't.. help," he slurred.

Merry wept as he grasped Pippin under his arms. "Stubborn...hardheaded....Fool of a Took," he muttered through his tears. Slowly, Pippin was lowered down onto his good knee, the injured leg stretched out behind him, useless. He let out a small wail as he did so, the pain lancing through him like a dagger. All who watched gasped in horror and made to reach for the small one. Aragorn paled and grit his teeth, trying hard to keep from interfering with what Pippin obviously felt, needed to be done. Saleth and Faramir had unshed tears in their eyes as they looked, helplessly, on. Merry was now openly sobbing. The sight of his small cousin, crumpled on the floor at his feet, tearing at his heart.

Moaning, Pippin bit down hard on his lip, jolting himself back to awareness and momentarily dimming the blackness as unconsciousness threatened to overtake him. "I have come...I have come," he swallowed hard, fighting to remain conscious. "I have come to beg forgiveness from my friend and my King. I doubted he who has protected and loved us throughout our long journey. I was in error and did not understand. I am ashamed of my words that were spoken in haste. Forgive me, my King. I have already offered my sword up to Denethor, Steward of Gondor, but now wish to offer my sword up to Aragorn, King of Gondor. I only hope he will accept and forgive a small hobbit for his lapse of fealty," Pippin slurred. He then produced the sword from his scabbard and held it aloft to the King.

Aragorn was deeply moved, his eyes damp. He strove to speak with authority, although his voice was husky with emotion. "I accept your sword as King of Gondor and your oath of fealty and allegiance. Rise, Peregrine Took, future Thain of the Shire. No offense was taken by our prior conversation. I see only a dear friend who has fought with valor in the defense of Gondor. Heavy battle wounds have been inflicted upon him and his kin, and I am in his debt for his faithful service." Aragorn smiled down at Pippin.

"Thank you, my Lord," Pippin said, smiling wanly. He made to rise, with Merry's help, and stood shakily on his good leg. His green eyes then glazed over, rolling up into his head. His body swayed, putting its full weight on Merry. The King swept Pippin up into his arms before he could bear down on his injured limb. Pippin then lost consciousness, going limp in Aragorn's arms. Merry was gently gathered up by Saleth and as one, he and Aragorn hastily left Faramir's quarters. Faramir grasped the crutches, scowling at the healer who made to stop him, and followed Saleth and Aragorn as they swiftly moved down the corridor to the hobbits room.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

Smoke and Mirrors

Chapter 12

 

Gandalf entered the Ringbearer's room and settled himself in a comfortable chair beside the bed of his dear friend. He took in the sight of the young patient whose pale face, coated in a sheen of sweat, spasomed occasionally in pain. A healer approached and asked the wizard if he could be of service.

"No, my dear man. I wish only to sit with a friend and give what comfort I may," he replied. "Perhaps you would be so kind as to bring me a cup of tea and some of that soothing balm that I might treat our patient's cracked lips?" he added.

"As you wish, my Lord," the healer bowed and left the room. He returned shortly with the requested items.

"How is he faring?" asked Gandalf.

"He seems calmer, my Lord. His fever is relentless and we fear he may suffer some permanent damage if we are unable to  
break it soon," he sighed.

"Ahh...my poor, poor boy," Gandalf whispered. "May I smoke? It is a comfort to me and Frodo used to rather enjoy the scent of Old Toby, when he was younger," asked the wizard.

"Well....," the healer started to say no, but upon seeing the stern look forming in the wizard's eyes, relented. "I suppose there would be no real harm... perhaps if we crack a window," he finished.

"That would surely be permissible seeing as our patient is already so overheated," Gandalf smiled slightly at the healers reluctance. They opened the window but a crack, the sweet smell of the garden's riot of flowers drifting in with the breeze, dispelling the omnipresent odor of a sickroom. The healer excused himself while Gandalf applied the balm to Frodo's dried lips. He lit his pipe, taking a few contented puffs before turning back to his charge. A bowl of cool water and a cloth sat by the bedside, the scent of lavender wafting from it.

"Ahh...lavender," said Gandalf as he wrung the cloth out. "You and your mother always smelled of lavender. A most soothing scent," droned the wizard. He wiped the feverish face in slow, gentle circles leaving the cool cloth placed on Frodo's damp forehead.

"Do you recall the first time we met, my dear boy?" Gandalf murmured. "Primula and Drogo had come to Hobbiton to visit dear Bilbo and brought you, their small but very energetic son, with them," Gandalf chucked at the memory. "Poor Bilbo looked quite beside himself when he answered the door, having such a curious and quick nephew to contend with." This elicited another chuckle from the wizard. "I think I rather saved his sanity when I arrived. You were small for your five years, but more than made up for your lack of stature with boundless curiosity and incessant questions," he smiled. "You looked up at me, your eyes wide and mouth falling open, obviously unacquainted with the Big Folk. But it was a momentary thing. After you discovered I was *the* Gandalf, the same one in all of Bilbo's tales, you fairly jumped into my arms as I sat by the fire. You listened with rapt attention to all of my ramblings of long ago  
histories and tales of fair ladies, strong Kings, elves and, of course, dragons," Gandalf's eyes were distant, remembering. He had a small smile on his lips. He resumed wringing the cloth and washed the silent patient’s chest and neck, arms and lastly, the small hand which he then held in his large one.

"I was entranced by your other worldly blue eyes, most hobbits having brown or green eyes, and the fine chiseled features of your face. Your skin was a pure unblemished white except for your rosy cheeks....so different from most of your kind. But, most of all, you had an inner light that shown through like a beacon from Eru himself." He glanced up at the hobbit's face noting these features once again, except the eyes, which remained closed.

He smiled again. "Do you remember our walk into the woods near the Brandywine? We found a pupae from a butterfly  
hanging on a small branch. You were elated at seeing such a thing and in awe as you touched it lightly and it moved beneath your small fingers. We brought the small branch back with us, your mother shuddering as you showed her how it moved at your touch, and placed it in a large jar Bilbo was kind enough to provide for us. Each night before you slept, and each morning after you awoke you would race through Bag End and check the progress of the pupae." Gandalf smiled, remembering the unstoppable exuberance of the young Frodo. "Finally, you awoke and came charging into my quarters landing squarely on my chest. 'Come quick, Gandalf, you must see the beautiful butterfly,' you gasped excitedly. Well, there was no denying suchenthusiasm, so I rose and followed you into the parlor, and there was  
the most beautiful blue butterfly I had ever seen, perched on the branch, drying its newly emerged wings. Your wide blue eyes peered in through the other side of the jar. I was struck by how much the butterfly's beauty was diminished when compared to the sheer depths of indigo in your own eyes." He squeezed Frodo's left hand gently. "We took the newest member of Bag End out into the vast gardens, and opened the jar.

You reached your small hand into the jar, extending your finger, upon which the butterfly alighted. You removed it from its nursery, and with a look of sheer joy covering your face, your smile impossibly wide, you held your hand aloft and it flew from your finger. Bilbo, Drogo, Primula, myself and even Hamfast chuckled as you danced in the garden under the flowers following the butterfly from flower to flower as it fed. Finally, it rose into the sky and flew to parts unknown. But instead of this bringing you sadness, you looked over at me, still with a wide smile and eyes dancing in glee and said," Gandalf swallowed, tears filling his eyes 'Look Gandalf at what we've helped create and now it's going on an adventure to explore all of Middle Earth.'"

Gandalf sighed, wiping his eyes. He looked at the small facewondering if Frodo would be able to recall this memory after thecountless seizures.

"Another tale, then?" He cleared his throat and began recounting another memory of a young Frodo Baggins.

"I remember, when you were about twelve, I came for a visit. You were there, but Prim and Drogo were not, having stayed at Brandyhall. They had allowed your Uncle to have you at Bag End for the celebration of your combined birthdays, as I recall. One night, after the prerequisite dinner and stories, we moved to theporch, lighting our pipes as you looked on. The night was deepest black, stars shining brightly across our small portion ofMiddle Earth's ceiling. You were gazing in wonder at the stars and recounting each constellation as Bilbo and I nodded and listened.  
Then you stopped and gasped as flickers of light, not unlike the stars, began to appear across the fields below us. We  
chuckled at the look of wonder on your face. 'Fireflies,' you exclaimed and ran into the hole to retrieve a large jar. We watchedas you jumped and giggled across the field trying to capture the elusive insects," Gandalf chuckled to himself, puffing thoughtfully on his pipe. "You managed to capture four of the insects in your jar and raced back to show us. You gazed at them as theyflitted about the jar, each glowing brightly. And you called them fairies.

"'Fairies,' I said."

"'Yes, Gandalf. They are fairies. Once elves, but they have diminished,' you said softly. 'The light of the Valar still shinesforth from within them.' "

"I remember thinking this was ridiculous, but the dreamy, sad look in your wide eyes stopped me. 'Then we must free them andallow their light to cheer others,' I remember murmuring."

"'Yes, of course. How cruel of me to capture them thusly,' you said,more to yourself than to Bilbo or I. You opened the jarand, as they took flight, you whispered, * 'Namarie! Nai hiruvalye Valimar. Namarie!'" Gandalf's eyes were damp, and a single slow tear tracked down his face. "I have never thought of fireflies in the same way since that day, so long ago," he whispered.

"I have never told you, my dear boy, how very much I have grown to love you." Gandalf's voice wavered, he lowered his head as he held the small hand and stroked it gently. “You have become quite dear to me, little hobbit, and I long to tell you so now. It is all my fault that you have suffered so. Even at the first, when I first gazed upon you, I knew you were different. All youryoung life you were taunted for you oddities, yet it was those oddities that made you the only one who could have been the Ringbearer. You lacked the desire for power, wanton destruction and avarice...qualities common in the race of Man and, to a very small degree, even hobbits. You yearned instead, to learn, to help, to love and to live life carefree and childlike. And I have taken all of this from you. Oh, I wish I could have found another. Someone I had not known or loved, to send on that hopeless quest. But then, that would have been as cruel to them as it was for you, and it is wrong of me to wish it. Instead, I sent a soul of pure light to fight pure evil. I am proud, so proud of you, my dearest friend." Gandalf lifted his head and looked at the frail, yet strong hobbit before him.

He gasped. A set of clear indigo eyes stared back at him. A look of intermixed wonder and fear filled them as a small groan issued from his mouth.

* Namarie! Nai hiruvalye Valimar. Namarie!  
Translation: Farewell, maybe thou shalt find Valimar. Farewell!

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

Smoke and Mirrors

Chapter 13

Floating. He was floating in a misty gray fog. No pain. No Ring. No thoughts of failure. Only the pure bliss of floating. The blackness that had surrounded him, clutching and tearing at his very soul, was gone. He felt a calmness, a peace infusing the very core of his being. ' _I must be dead,' he thought. 'This must be the peace and painlessness of death.'_ He sighed inwardly. Yes, death had finally claimed him and he felt....what? Relief. It was over. The heavy burden he had carried physically and mentally was no more and he felt.....light.....airy.....floating. But where were his parents? Always he had heard, one would be reunited with those who had gone before. He pondered this, confused. Surely, they would be there to greet him. And what of Gandalf, his dear friend? The Maia surely would be there to hold out his hand and welcome him into the next life? Of course, he was a wizard....who knew where wizards went when they left the mortal plain. Dimly, he heard a low droning voice. The peace was broken. Dully, his senses returned to him and he felt....pain? No, not possible. He was dead, the dead could not feel pain. Could they? But this was pain and not merely pain, but *agony*. His body...body? He should not have a body any longer....he could not...he was dead. So confused. He throbbed. His head, his legs, feet, arms *everything* throbbed. Most of all his hand. The hand pulsed, pounded in time with his heartbeat. Heartbeat? NO!! he cried inwardly. No...I *want* to be dead. I *need* to be dead. Release me, I beg you! He thought. But he knew .... he knew then that he yet lived. The dead do not have heartbeats. The dead do not feel the anguish that was now washing over him. His mind sobbed. No, his mind begged, please, no more. The gray mist slowly, very slowly cleared from his mind. The floating sensation became more a feeling of resting on many pillows. He was so warm, his mouth a desert. The drone, the voice seemed closer now. It continued in a soft comforting cadence, lulling Frodo even as he drew closer to consciousness. Someone he once knew, the voice so familiar, so steady and strong. It wrapped around his mind like an embrace. He felt loved and protected. He felt...happy. The voice made him feel happy. Glimpses of a small child with wide blue eyes running through meadows with flowers, and the voice was there. The owner of the voice was always just out of his sight, his reach...he felt he should know....but he couldn't quite remember. The voice shared the feeling of contentment, laughing with the blue eyed boy. The boy...the boy was HIM. The voice, the voice whispering soothingly in his ear, telling of times long past and chuckling at times remembered. GANDALF. It was Gandalf's voice! Not possible. I know *I* am not dead, he sighed, but Gandalf *is*. He perished because of *me*. It cannot be Gandalf, he sobbed inside. Frodo could feel the coolness of a cloth on his face, his chest his arms. His hand gently held by a much larger hand and being softly caressed. He heard quiet weeping, and yearned to see who it was but could not will his eyes to open. So tired. His mind felt so very tired. Gradually, oh so gradually, he cracked his eyes open. Where was he? A room. It smelled of lavender and pipe weed....Old Toby?...but mostly he smelled lavender. The room was dimly lit and his eyes adjusted after only a moment or two. Everything was so blurry. He tried to move his head, to look around, but could not. Panicking, he tried to move his arms, his legs. Nothing. He was paralyzed. He struggled to calm his racing thoughts and quell the panic rising within him. By shear force of will this was gradually accomplished. He could feel the texture of linens against his skin, pillows around his head, arms and legs. He was not paralyzed, his mind sighed in relief. But what was this place? He thought he must be on a bed, but somehow, restrained. Why would anyone do that to him? Suddenly he felt frustrated and angry. Again he forced a calmness to descend upon himself. He wanted to call out, to ask his questions and get his answers, but no sound would issue from his mouth. His mouth ...so dry, he could barely breath and...what?...something, something was in his throat. He managed to turn his head ever so slightly to the left and beheld a figure, blurred and all in white, sitting close by. The voice was coming from this figure, and was telling a story. He listened in rapt attention, blinking his eyes repeatedly, trying to clear the fogginess. The story sounded familiar and seemed somehow appropriate that this voice, should be telling it. He tried to focus his mind but he was so tired, so confused. Finally, the voice became silent. More than anything Frodo wanted that voice to continue...to speak forever to him in those gentle, soothing tones. But it had stopped. His hand was being held tightly and the figure was bent over it in seeming supplication. The figure was weeping. Gradually, the person’s head rose and looked into Frodo's eyes. Frodo's mind gasped at who he saw before him, fear and wonder filling his heart. Gandalf? The eyes were sad at first then, realizing another pair of eyes now locked with his own, startled. Gandalf stared deeply into the blue eyes of the Ringbearer, feeling surprise and joy. His brow creased in worry, however, when he saw the look in Frodo's eyes.

"Frodo, don't be frightened, my boy," he said softly. He smiled and his blue eyes crinkled in joy. "You've awoken at long last." Frodo's face held a look of deep confusion. His eyes questioning as they looked into the wizard's. "Ahhh...I understand your confusion, my fine hobbit. You saw me fall in Moria." Frodo's eyes glistened with tears, one slipping slowly down his cheek. Gandalf reached out slowly and wiped it away. "Yes, my friend, I *did* fall. But, by the grace of the Valar, I was sent back, reborn after my tortuous battle with the Balrog. No longer am I Gandalf, the Grey Pilgrim, but now am Gandalf, the White," He smiled thinly. Frodo continued to stare, then his eyes slowly closed, tears leaking out beneath the dark lashes as his chest hitched in sobs. "There, there, my lad. All is well, now." Gandalf whispered stroking Frodo's damp curls. Frodo reopened his eyes and peered at this new personage before him. "Frodo, I know you are unable to speak. You've been very ill and the healers have placed a tube down your throat to give you medicines and nourishment." Frodo's eyes widened. "No, don't be alarmed, they'll remove it once you're able to eat and drink on your own," Gandalf comforted. "I wish to ask you some questions and I want you to squeeze my hand if you understand, all right?" asked Gandalf. Frodo gave Gandalf a tentative squeeze with his tiny hand. "Good, that's very good, my boy," Gandalf beamed. "First, let's get our healer so he can witness this great event," Gandalf said with a twinkle in his eye. "My man," he called to the healer. "What *is* your name, my dear man," he asked.

A tall thin man dressed in white, entered the room. "Valin, sire. Ahh.....our patient is awake," Valin added delightedly, watching as Frodo’s wide blue eyes took him in. "I am so pleased," he smiled broadly.

"Valin, Frodo seems almost like his old self. Are there questions you wish to ask of him?" asked Gandalf.

"Yes, indeed. First, are you in pain, Master Baggins?" asked the healer. Frodo squeezed Gandalf's hand. "Is it your head?" (a squeeze) "Your hand?" (a hard squeeze). "Anything else?" (another small squeeze).

"Hmmm...this could be more difficult than we thought," mumbled Gandalf.

"Let's take care of one thing at a time. It is time for more of your medicines anyway, then perhaps some broth, does that sound good, Master Ringbearer?" asked the healer. Frodo gave another hesitant squeeze.

Gandalf chuckled. "I see you still hate to take your medicine, Frodo." Frodo's eyes met his and there was the barest flicker of laughter there. Gandalf smiled and a lone tear slipped down his cheek. "I thought I'd lost you, my friend. I am so happy, so very happy to see your eyes telling me all we need to know." Frodo gave Gandalf another affectionate squeeze.

The healer placed his hand on Frodo's head. "This fever," he said in frustration, "refuses to break. There are more extreme methods we can use, but I hesitate to try them without Saleth's council."

"Where is Saleth?" asked Gandalf. "I know not. When I came in to check on Frodo, Merry and Pippin were gone. I can only assume he has moved them to another room, so as not to disturb the Ringbearer," Valin replied.

"And what of Sam?" asked Gandalf. At the mention of his loyal friend's name, Frodo squeezed Gandalf's hand repeatedly and his eyes opened wide. Gandalf smiled. "Calm yourself, Frodo. Sam is quite well, only resting. We will move him over here so you can be beside him, if you wish," said Gandalf softly. Frodo squeezed the hand and his eyes filled with relief and tears of joy.

"That can be arranged, but first your medicines," said Valin. He crossed to the table and gathered the teas, pouring warm water from the kettle, letting them steep. He turned to the fire and poured some broth that had been warming, into a small cup. He returned to Frodo's bedside, inserted the funnel onto the reed and began spooning the tea into Frodo’s mouth. Frodo's eyes had widened when he approached and his hand had tightened around Gandalf's, obviously frightened.

"It is all right, Frodo. This won't hurt and will make you feel so much better," he crooned softly. Frodo gradually relaxed as the mixtures began to have their effect on him. ' _What an odd feeling,_ ' he thought to himself, _'to be filled without swallowing.'_ Next, he was fed a small amount of broth until he squeezed Gandalf's hand to signal he was full. His eyes began to close as the feeling of being sated caused him to drowse.

"Rest now, my dear boy," Gandalf said softly.

"I have given him the Valerian root extract with the teas. Sleep and quiet may be our best bet to curing his illness. Still...the fever has me concerned," murmured Valin. As if hearing these words, Frodo's eyes flew open and his hand clenched Gandalf's convulsively.

"What is it? What is happening?" cried Gandalf.

"Another seizure. Quickly, remove the reed!" commanded the healer.

"But I could injury him, I am no healer!" cried Gandalf.

"If we leave the reed in place he will bite down on it, breaking it and choke. There is no alternative, we must remove it before that can happen!" cried Valin. "Remove it, while I get something to place between his teeth," the healer insisted.

Gandalf grimaced and, turning to Frodo, saying "Forgive me, Frodo." He pulled the reed out, noticing as he did so that it was covered in blood. Frodo gagged and arched his back up off the bed. His eyes, so full of understanding and hope moments ago, rolled up into his head as he strained against the ties that bound him. Gandalf lay the bloody reed aside. The healer approached with a wooden stick wrapped in many layers of gauze and forced it between Frodo's teeth. Countless moments passed as Frodo strained and bucked, gasping and groaning, until the seizure finally ceased.

Valin sighed. "We must lower his temperature at any cost." He looked at Gandalf. "Mithrandir, please assist me. What I am about to do could kill your friend but I fear if he continues to have the convulsions he will perish a much more painful death." _Guide me. What should I do?_ his eyes pleaded with Gandalf's. Gandalf turned away from him and gazed at the now spent form of his dear friend. He caressed the sweaty curls and face gently.

"Dear boy. I will do whatever I must to help you come back to us," he murmured. He turned to Valin, "I will assist you. Tell me what to do to end this torment for Frodo, one way or another," he said solemnly.

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

Smoke and Mirrors

Chapter 14

Aragorn and Saleth moved quickly down the corridor with Faramir trailing close behind. "In here, my Lord." Aragorn looked quizzically at Saleth, for this was not the hobbits quarters. "The treatments the small perian shall be receiving will be intensely painful. I thought it best if we put he and Master Brandybuck far away from the Ringbearer, so as not to disturb him," Saleth explained.

"A wise decision, let us proceed," Aragorn said grimly. Just thinking about what lay in store for Pippin made his heart ache. They moved into a comfortably large room. A sizeable bed occupied the center, while shelves with towels, bandages and ointments lined the facing wall. Aragorn gently lay Pippin on the bed and began removing the hobbit's cherished livery of the land of Gondor. He had removed all but the leggings when he quickly drew a short blade and cut them off the hobbit. A low moan escaped Pippin's lips. As Aragorn peeled back the leggings, his breath caught in his throat. The most serious break Pippin had received from the troll in defense of Gondor, had been a compound fracture below the right knee. It now lay exposed, the bone standing up and out like a jagged tooth, blood oozing slowly from the wound. Merry, upon seeing the re-mangled leg, gasped and began to sob. Faramir, eyes damp with empathy for this small one, hobbled over to where Merry sat perched at one corner of the large bed, and pulled him close. "Saleth, I want Pippin and Merry sedated," said Aragorn. Three pairs of eyes looked up as one, questioning the King. "I am sorry, Merry, but Pippin will be in a lot of pain when we reset this fracture. I do not wish you to witness this procedure as it will be quite gruesome and unnerving," Aragorn said softly.

"NO! I will *not* be sedated. I plan to sit right here and hold Pip's hand and help him through this," cried Merry. "He needs me, Aragorn," he finished, eyes pleading.

"You have all ready had too much excitement this night. I do not think it wise for you to continue to tax yourself beyond your limits," Aragorn said sternly.

"No. I am not leaving him. I'll fight you on this, Lord Aragorn," Merry said firmly. "Please don't make it come to that," he plead, eyes bright with passion and his jaw set squarely. Aragorn and Faramir both smiled a little at the comment, but knew better than to openly laugh. The hobbits had shown themselves to be worthy opponents despite their small stature. Aragorn knew he could physically remove Merry from the room and force the sleeping draught upon him, but he would not risk injuring the pride of the hobbit or their friendship. He held a deep, abiding respect and love for Merry and knew he would lose it all if he pressed the issue.

"Very well, Meriadoc," Aragorn said slowly. "You will hold Pippin's hand, but you will not interfere with our treatment. This includes questioning us or distracting us in any way, from our care of Pippin," he said sternly. Merry gulped but nodded his assent. Faramir moved them both closer to the head of the bed so Merry could hold Pippin's hand. Aragorn and Saleth gazed at the crumpled figure before them. Pippin's tousled locks were sweaty and hung lank about his face. His eyes were closed, a small furrow between them, even though unconscious, attested to the pain he was enduring. Sweat beaded on his upper lip and his breath came in ragged gasps. Saleth ran his hands down the leg to see if any of the other previous breaks had been re-fractured.

"The other breaks are still healing, except for the one here at his ankle and the one below his knee," he said.

"We will need the pulley and brace in order to completely immobilize the leg and insure the bones fall back into place," said Aragorn.

"I agree, though I am loathe to use it. It brings to mind some ancient system of torture every time I have need of it," murmured Saleth.

Aragorn smiled grimly at this. "That is exactly what it is, my friend. But, unfortunately, we have little recourse." Saleth motioned to an orderly and had him bring a cream infused with crushed poppy seeds. Then a strange looking device was brought into Pippin’s new quarters. It had a long board, with a small perpendicular board at the end. Ropes were attached and ran down the sides of the board ending in a loop over the smaller board. A small pouch of sand hung down from a pole attached at the end. Merry looked at the monstrosity, confusion evident on his face. Saleth pried open Pippin's mouth and placed the poppy cream under his tongue, then watched as it was slowly swallowed by his patient. He repeated this three times until he was satisfied that Pippin was sedated.

"I dare not give him anymore...he is so small he could stop breathing," said the healer. Merry's eyes grew large and he looked quickly at Aragorn. Aragorn nodded to Saleth in understanding, and then looked briefly at Merry, raising an eyebrow. Aragorn and Saleth washed Pippin's leg in athelas water, allowing some to drizzle over the exposed bone. Pippin groaned in response.

"I wish to insert a small drain here at the base of the break so that if it becomes infected, we will be better able to treat it," Saleth said. Aragorn nodded grimly. A small reed was inserted next to the broken bone, causing Pippin to cry out. The reed was secured in place with a strip of gauze. Saleth then moved to the foot of the bed as Aragorn slid himself behind the limp body of the hobbit. With a nod, Saleth then grasped the leg around the calf and pulled while Aragorn pulled from above the knee. Pippin's eyes flew open and a loud keening shriek issued from his tiny mouth. He clutched convulsively at Merry's hand. Merry squeezed Pippin's hand back and whispered reassurances in his cousin's small ear, tears silently running down his face all the while. The fracture below the knee made a wet popping sound as it slipped back under the skin and into place. A leather strap was placed securely over the fracture as a temporary hold fast. Pippin was panting and sweating profusely with this new agony. The mechanism that had been brought into the room was moved to the bed.

"The board is too long to accommodate his smaller leg," observed Aragorn.

"We have a smaller board used for children, perhaps that would suffice," said Saleth. The child size board was brought in and the other removed. Thick towels were wrapped about it to cushion the surface. Aragorn bent and lifted Pippin so that his right leg lay along the length of the board, his hairy foot now rested against the upright board at the end of the apparatus. Aragorn soaked cloths in the athelas water and wrapped them gently around the mangled limb. "Now for the ankle," said Saleth. The ankle was manipulated so that the bones were in alignment and tied down to the footboard. Pippin screamed anew as they pulled and twisted his bones back into their proper form. Great large tears fell from his eyes as he closed them and drifted into a drug induced stupor. The loop at the end of the footboard was placed around the foot and the leg lashed with many lengths of gauzes which were then attached to the ropes running along the sides of the board. The board was pulled up to a 45 degree angle and Pippin's back elevated slightly with pillows. The rope ran down the length of the board and to a pole where it hung down. To this a very small pouch of sand was attached. Pippin moaned and whimpered at the addition of the sand. Merry watched, transfixed by the intricate pulley and lever system. Aragorn, noticing Merry's curiosity, began to explain the system and how it worked.

"The rope and weight pull the bones into place while the loop holds the foot straight and steady, so that they can knit properly," he explained.

"I don't remember you using this on his leg before," commented Merry.

"That is because, dear Merry, the initial break, while extensive, was somewhat smaller and easier to pull back into place. Pippin has undone all the progress he had made and caused the old fracture to splinter the main bone. This bone," he pointed at the bone below the knee, "has splintered under the stress of walking and especially, kneeling. If you will recall, when Pippin insisted on kneeling, we all heard a loud popping noise. That was the sound of the bone cracking and the fracture spreading down this long bone," he said grimly. Merry looked sadly at his cousin. Once they were satisfied with the angle and positioning of Pippin‘s leg, he was draped in blankets, avoiding the leg to prevent putting added pressure on the wound. Pillows were placed around him, under his arms and behind his head. "I am most concerned about the possibility of infection. The bone and wound have been exposed for an extended period of time," said Aragorn to Saleth, looking in concern at the sweaty face of the smallest hobbit.

"I too, am concerned. If the infection should get into the bone we could find ourselves having to remove the leg in order to spare his life," replied Saleth.

Merry had been listening, his eyes went wide and his mouth dry at the prospect of taking Pippin's leg off. "Aragorn, surely you can treat him. Don't cut off his leg," he whispered earnestly.

"Merry, forgive us for discussing this in front of you. We will do whatever we can to save the limb. But if it should come down to a choice of Pippin's life or his leg, I *will* remove the leg," Aragorn said quietly. Merry's eyes filled with tears. His whole body shook from exhaustion and witnessing the stress of what his cousins' had been through, and had yet to go through, before being healed. Aragorn motioned to Saleth who then brought Merry a sleeping tonic to drink. "Now Merry, let me examine your arm, for you too, have been hurt this night," said Aragorn softly. Merry struggled to remove his shirt, but was unable to get the right arm to respond. Aragorn noticed the hobbit's difficulty and moved to assist him. He slowly peeled the shirt off and upon touching the arm, drew back sharply at its frigid temperature. He gathered a cloth that had been soaking in the hot athelas water, wrung it out and applied it to the wounded arm. He pushed Merry gently back so that he was lying next to Pippin. Pillows and blankets were brought and bricks, that had been heating near the fire, were wrapped in cloth and placed around the arm. Merry sighed as the warmth began to seep into the limb. The tonic was offered, and Merry drank it gratefully.

"Thank you, Aragorn ....Saleth, for all you have done for us," he said smiling wanly.

"Yes, you have been far more troublesome than normal, this night. But all is forgiven if you will but rest and promise to stay put for its duration," Aragorn whispered with a smile.

"I promise....my....King," Merry slurred, his eyes slowly closing. He rested.

Aragorn sighed. "Troublesome, headstrong and stubborn. Yet also faithful, loving and most enduring," he murmured softly, stroking Merry's fine bronze curls.

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

Smoke and Mirrors

Chapter 15

Valin quickly crossed to the bed of the stricken Ringbearer. Drawing a small blade, he cut the bindings that restrained Frodo and rolled him onto his left side. Grasping a bowl in one hand he lifted the limp figure with the other, and held the bowl beneath his head, awaiting the inevitable. He was none to soon. Frodo violently retched into the bowl, spewing forth a mixture of tea and broth mixed with large amounts of bright red blood.

"As I feared," he said, almost to himself. He looked up at Gandalf. "We had need to pull the reed so quickly that we have damaged his throat and possibly, his stomach," he said gravely.

"What can be done for him?" asked Gandalf, anxiously.

"There is a very potent herb that seems to help stop bleeding in most cases. It is called cayenne, made into a tincture and added to water, it has proven most beneficial for internal and external bleeding. Apparently, we will have need of it. Mithrandir, could you call one of my assistants, please?" asked Valin.

"Of course." Gandalf left the room and summoned not one, but two, healers who were in conference in the corridor. They immediately turned with Gandalf, and entered Frodo's room.

"Please fill the copper tub with lukewarm water," Valin said. "And...," he hesitated. "Bring me two buckets of ice, broken into fist sized chunks," he finished slowly. The healers stopped and locked eyes with Valin, then nodding once, departed. While one healer was occupied drawing the bath, the other took the buckets and started the long descent down into the catacombs of Minas Tirith. Deep under the city were caverns that never saw the light or heat of day. It took some time to reach them, but finally the healer found the precious ice and began chipping off large chunks to be carried back to the Ringbearer's room. The hot water was brought and mixed with cool in the small copper tub. Valin had finished cutting Frodo from his bindings, blankets and pillows and now was removing the nightshirt that clung to the frail body in a drenching sweat. Gandalf then stepped to the bed and gathered the unconscious form of his dear friend, tenderly into his arms. Frodo was then lowered slowly into the cooling bath. Carefully, Gandalf and Valin sponged the feverish body. The healer returned from the caverns shortly and, with a sigh, sat the chunks of ice beside the tub that held the spent form.

"You are certain of this, Valin?" he asked.

"We have no other choice. His fever has all but consumed him. If we allow it to linger, he will die," said Valin. The healer nodded knowing the risk that Valin now subjected the hobbit to. "Thank you, Melor. If you should see Saleth, please send him immediately here," said Valin.

"As you wish," he said. He bowed and left. Valin took a smallish chunk of ice and placed it in the tub, allowing it to melt slowly.

"We shall slowly add ice until the water temperature is quite cool," he explained, looking up at Gandalf who knelt by Frodo's head. "By doing this, we hope to lower Frodo's own temperature gradually. There is a mechanism, in all of our bodies, that seems to regulate our individual body temperatures. By bringing Frodo's own body temperature to the point of freezing, we hope to re-set this mechanism---have it counteract our actions, and stop the fever that now possesses him. It is very dangerous. Frodo's heart could stop or he could experience other symptoms of hypothermia. The other alternative is to wrap his body in steaming cloths which also attempts to reset the internal mechanism into counteracting our actions, by cooling him. This method can cause heat sickness, and, for that reason, I did not wish to use it." He looked at Gandalf. "I felt for some reason, this was the better choice," he said softly. Gandalf watched the face of his small friend and felt a rush of frustration and sadness.

"You must be strong, Frodo. We need your light to return to our lives, healed and whole," he whispered gently, combing back the wet curls with his large, gnarled hand. Valin continued to add ice, one chunk at a time, letting each dissolve slowly into the bath water. Frodo seemed relaxed and calm even though the water temperature was becoming quite cool. They continued to sponge him gently, washing the cool water over his face, hair and body. Valin added more ice. They watched the serene face for any change, anticipating some reaction to the now frigid water. "I believe that is enough. We shall simply let him float here for a few moments then wrap and clothe him," said Valin. He moved Frodo to Gandalf's arms, stood and retrieved clean blankets and set them on a rack by the fire to warm. Suddenly, there was a harsh, gurgling gasp and he turned quickly. Frodo's eyes were open and held a look of surprise mingled with shock. He clutched at Gandalf convulsively as the wizard bent over him.

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Sam was dreaming. The dream had started out nice enough, but now was something Sam sought only to escape from. Mr. Frodo was standing before him looking like his old self. He wore the travel worn jacket, shirt and breeches, but all looked brand new as the day they were made. "Why, Mr. Frodo sir, you look right as rain. I see the healers have got you back to your ol' self once again," said Sam gleefully.

"Yes, Sam. I *am* right as rain," said Frodo, a large grin covering his healthy complexion. His eyes were bright with the light of life and he chuckled easily at the look on Sam's face. "I've never felt better, my dear friend," he stated. But something wasn't quite right and as Sam studied his Master, a small niggling doubt nudged at the base of his brain. A frown began forming on his face. Frodo *did* look wonderful, but it seemed almost *too* good to believe. He studied his Master and noticed that none of the bruises and battle scars of the trip through Mordor remained on the shining countenance. Frodo seemed calm and happy, the smile Sam had always loved, touching his eyes. All of these things were things Sam had hoped and prayed for and now he wondered at the confusion and dread that filled his thoughts. As he gazed at the lithe and healthy figure before him, he gasped. Frodo was shining like a bright beacon of starlight. But more than that, Sam could see a *transparency* about Frodo. He could see *through* his friend.

"Mr. Frodo? I don't understand. Why can I see through you? Is it an after effect of the Ring?" Sam asked, his voice wavering in fear. Frodo's high, lilting laugh suddenly sounded grating to Sam's ears.

"Of a sort, I suppose. My dearest Sam, I feel so light and carefree like I could jump to the stars and land on the moon," he exclaimed. His expression turned to one of pity. "I am so sorry, Sam," he said softly. "If I could, I would be there for you and Rosie, and all of your children, but I can not," he said sadly. "My time is over. I regret none of it. I needed to say good-bye, that is why I am here now."

"No, Mr. Frodo. You can't go a leavin' us now. What will I do without you? You saved Middle Earth and you gotta live to see it grow and bloom again," Sam wailed. He reached out to Frodo, but Frodo stepped back.

"I am sorry, Sam," he said as he became more and more transparent. "I love you, my dear, faithful friend," Frodo whispered. Then he was gone, fading into air, a glimmer of light lingered where he had last stood until even that, blinked out of existence.

"No. Come back!! No, Mr. Frodo," Sam cried, sobbing hysterically. Sam's eyes popped open as he panted and struggled to rise, the cry still echoing through his mind. As he began to realize it had only been a dream, his eyes fixed on his Master's frail form being lifted, lifeless, from the copper tub.

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The synapses in the brain of Frodo Baggins were firing at an alarming rate of speed, leaving him confused and disoriented. Every color of the spectrum flashed and pulsed, the universe seemed to pitch and roll on waves of an unseen ocean. Memories of his parents, friends and loved ones flashed past in rapid succession all surrounded in a brilliant halo of light. Thoughts past, present and future overwhelmed him as he tried to grasp each one as it flew by. His mother rocking and singing to him as a child. His cousins', Merry and Pip, and he fishing under a tree on the Brandywine. His parents', walking down a road a giggling, dangling toddler sized Frodo, between them. Gandalf falling in Moria. Sam planting flowers in the beloved window boxes at Bag End, a smile on his face. On and on the memories raced past surrounded by the brilliant, blinding light, infused with every color imaginable and swirling in an ever spiraling sea of vertigo. Until at last, it all coalesced into a tiny pinprick of white light. There was a loud rushing noise and then it was deadly calm, quiet and peaceful.

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

Smoke and Mirrors

Chapter 16

Aragorn was exhausted. "Never have I felt so tired,” he said as he turned to Saleth and Faramir. He rubbed at his eyes until he saw sparks of light. Faramir grinned at the harried face of the King. Saleth finished outlining the care of Merry and Pippin to the healer who nodded at his instructions. He looked at the King noticing the dark circles under his eyes and lines of fatigue etched into his face. "Now that we finally have our *guests* under control, perhaps I shall retire for a short nap," Aragorn continued as they turned into the corridor. The corridor was a beehive of activity, healers and orderlies crossing hurriedly to and fro. Most seemed headed in the general direction of the Ringbearer's room. Aragorn, Faramir and Saleth stopped cold as they looked towards Frodo's room. "Then again, perhaps not," he said dryly. As one they ran down the hall and into the hobbits chambers. Gandalf was wrapping a lifeless Frodo in warmed blankets while Valin cleared the way to the newly made bed.

Sam, upon waking, had come to his senses and stumbled to Frodo's bedside. Now he clutched at his Master's left hand convulsively as he whispered, 'Don't leave me, Mr. Frodo...don't leave me" in a continuing litany while tears streamed down his face.

"What has happened?" cried Saleth, a note of panic clearly in his voice. A stunned Aragorn and Faramir looked at the blue form of a hobbit as he was laid on the bed. His lips and around his eyes were a purplish hue that made his face paler than alabaster, the veins showing clearly beneath the unnaturally white skin. Aragorn could detect no rise and fall of the small chest. He moved to Frodo in two strides, pressed his fingers to the hobbit’s neck and shuddered at the frigid, lifeless flesh. He felt no pulse.

"What have you done?" he thundered at Valin. Gandalf stepped forward, placing himself between the King and the young healer.

"We were attempting to break the fever," Valin replied, his voice wavering.

"Valin, you know how dangerous this can be. Why was I not called? He should never have been subjected to this treatment in his weakened state. You have stopped his heart!" cried Saleth.

"We tried to find you, Master Healer, but we're unable to do so. The perian suffered another convulsion, much worse than before. We decided, in your absence, to try and halt the incessant fever with an ice bath," Valin said haltingly, fingering his robe.

Saleth looked shocked, then saddened by this news. "We need to get his heart re-started while there is still time," yelled Aragorn. He pushed the healers aside and dove towards Frodo's prone figure. Without further warning, he raised his right fist up, and brought it down hard onto Frodo's chest. Frodo made an 'oomph' sound, as the air was forced from his dead lungs. Aragorn knelt and tilting Frodo's head back, covered the small nose and mouth with his own. He blew into the Ringbearer, watching the hobbit’s chest rise and fall. Again he slammed his fist into the chest of the slack body and again he emptied his lungs into Frodo's, being careful not to overfill the smaller lungs. He continued like this for some time, Aragorn becoming more and more worried that they were too late and that their friend was now lost to them. Gandalf appeared at his side and began to briskly rub Frodo’s legs, trying to restore the circulation. Finally, when all hope seemed lost, a ragged, shallow inhalation was heard, followed quickly by a weak cough. Aragorn touched the neck of his friend and sank to his knees in relief as he felt the thready pulse. Frodo yet lived.

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Frodo became aware of sights, sounds and smells he had never noticed before, seeing with a clarity never dreamed of in his mortal life. He watched healers as they moved rapidly to and fro. He saw Pippin and Merry and shook his head side to side, a small, sad smile touching his lips. He was finally free of the crushing, unrelenting pain that had become so much a part of his existence. He knew he had died, unlike before, this was a feeling that could not be confused with any other experience he had ever known. He watched Aragorn, Faramir, Saleth, Gandalf and dear Sam as they huddled around some sad blue corpse. He realized suddenly that it was *his* corpse and he moved to watch as Aragorn struck his body repeatedly and then breathed slow measured breaths into the now dead shell of his former self. He felt strangely detached as he watched them try to work their miracle on the lifeless form. He felt sadness for them and their loss, but he was not sad for himself. Finally, the peace and feeling of calm washed over him. Everything about him gleamed and shown with an aura of light---a light he had never seen with his own eyes. It was a soft, warm radiance that emanated from all living things. He no longer inhabited that pitiful, sad body. Poor Sam, he thought. Of all of them, it would be hardest for the small gardener. Suddenly, he felt himself being pulled by an irresistible yet unseen force back towards the broken husk of a body. A swirling vortex surrounded and dragged at him, pulling him steadily towards it's core. He fought it, crying out his frustration. Returning to that weakened shell, to have to undergo the agony of what his life had become once again, would surely bring him to madness. He struggled, but he was being repelled from the glowing warmth of the new existence just as he was firmly being drawn back by the former. He screamed mentally, 'NOOOO!!!!' but felt, with a jolt, that it was already too late.

Frodo's friends gathered around his bed, weeping and hugging one another in joy, as they witnessed Frodo‘s first gasps of returning life. Sam clutched at his Master's hand and whispered softly in his ear. Aragorn knelt by Frodo, his hand resting lightly on the damp forehead, his eyes closed in a silent prayer for sparing his friend's life. He stood slowly and turned towards Valin. All noise ceased as one by one, each looked at the King's face. "Explain," he said with barely concealed contempt.

"If I may, Master Valin," Gandalf said stepping between the two. "Frodo awoke while you were gone, my King. We had a brief conversation, of sorts," he smiled wearily. "He seemed almost himself. We gave him his medicine and some broth and he began to slip into a feverish slumber," Gandalf's forehead wrinkled at the memory and a look of deep sadness came over his face as he recalled what happened next. "Then he convulsed violently, seemingly forever," he murmured. "Valin, at a loss as to how to eliminate the fever and, thusly, the convulsions, before they could wreck havoc upon Frodo's mind, asked for my assistance." He paused, his voice became firmer as he stood to his full height. "I wanted to end Frodo's torment one way or the other," he said with defiance. "I could no longer watch as he suffered. If you wish to lay blame, then it is to fall upon this old wizard who loves this boy more than any other mortal in Middle Earth," he ended. His head was held high and his gray eyes locked with the King's.

"Valin, why the ice bath?" Saleth asked gently.

"Master Healer, I have had great success with this treatment in the past. I realized how dangerous it was, but could think of no better way to finally dispense with the ever present fever. I only wished what was best for the Ringbearer. I beg your forgiveness. I erred and will resign my post immediately," he concluded sadly.

"We shall discuss that later. I believe you did what you thought needed to be done. You have always been an excellent healer, if a bit rash at times. I do not doubt your fierce allegiance to your patients and will not accept your resignation, that is, unless the King orders otherwise. I feel certain we would greatly miss your skills here at the Houses of Healing, were you to leave," Saleth said softly. He looked to the King. "My Liege? What is your wish?" he asked, an unreadable look in his eyes. Aragorn shifted his gaze between Gandalf, Valin and Saleth. Faramir and Sam watched. If the circumstances had not been so dire, they would have laughed at the look of mix of confusion and anger that filled Aragorn's eyes.

Aragorn relaxed slightly. "I will leave the decision of Master Valin's employment within your capable hands," he said to Saleth. He looked at Valin. "I apologize for my earlier outburst, Master Valin. I tend to be very protective of Frodo and if any harm were to come to him well...it would not bode well for the person responsible," he whispered threateningly to Valin.

Valin swallowed hard, then smiled slightly at the semi-apology from the King. "I understand completely, my Lord. I too have grown to enjoy their exuberance and cheery outlook on life," he said softly. Aragorn turned back to Frodo. He glanced at the bedside table and quickly picked up the blood encrusted reed.

Noticing the look of horror on the King's face, Valin moved to explain. "He began to convulse with the reed in place. We needed to remove it with all due haste and I fear we may have abraded the Ringbearer's throat or stomach. I have sent for some fresh cayenne tincture to stop the bleeding," he finished nervously.

Aragorn looked at Valin in alarm changing to respect. "A wise choice," he said softly. "Still, we need to get the medicines and nourishment into him, somehow," he murmured.

"I suggest holding him and spooning it into his mouth, then stroking his throat. I am hopeful that he will regain consciousness and thus, make our dosing him easier," Valin answered.

"Hmm...you obviously have never tried to get a hobbit to take his medicine, especially *this* hobbit," Aragorn muttered sarcastically. He felt at Frodo's throat once again. He could tell now that it was, indeed, quite swollen. But the pulse was steady and his breathing relaxed and regular. "Let us try, then we shall let him rest," Aragorn whispered. The Valerian root, athelas and Echinacea teas were brought. The willow bark tea was left to the side, as it would increase the bleeding and irritation. Aragorn moved the slack form of his friend up against his chest. Saleth slowly spooned the liquid into the Ringbearer's mouth. At first, the liquid just ran down the tiny chin and onto Frodo's chest. Aragorn adjusted his position to cradle the head and neck in his right hand, tilting it back slightly, like a parent with a newborn babe. Again the liquid was trickled into the hobbit’s mouth. Aragorn gently stroked the thin neck until the muscles involuntarily moved, causing Frodo to swallow. A small groan issued forth. He struggled weakly against Aragorn's chest, but his strength soon failed and he lay still. Aragorn smiled up at Saleth, who returned the smile.

"He is nearly conscious," said Saleth.

"He is waging a war we can not fight for him. I only hope the battle will result in our favor," murmured Aragorn. Saleth eyed the King quizzically. He continued slowly spooning the liquid into Frodo's mouth with Aragorn gently tickling the throat to cause the swallow. It was a long, tedious process but eventually all of the medicine and broth were given and Frodo was eased back onto the pillows. Restraints were reattached to his arms and feet, but not his head, in case he had another convulsion. "Let him rest. Perhaps, with the light of day, we will see improvement," Aragorn said huskily.

"I'll stay with 'em," said Sam.

"Sam, that is an excellent idea. If you like, you could sleep here next to Frodo. Your closeness will undoubtedly, help him heal faster," Aragorn said smiling. Sam beamed in delight, and crawled up to nestle next to his Master. As the soothing voices of his friends droned on around him, Sam's eyes slowly slipped closed. In his right hand he still held his Master's left, his right arm resting lightly on Frodo's chest. He fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

"I believe I shall stay as well," said Aragorn, dragging a soft chair over to Frodo's right bedside.

"My Liege, I feel it would be best if you were to find a bed and recover your strength. Not even the King can be expected to be all things to all peoples," Saleth said, knowing he was breaching a social barrier by speaking so, but he was more concerned with the King's health than for his own station in life. Gandalf and Faramir smiled as Aragorn grimaced and looked up at Saleth.

"I agree with you, Saleth. But on this, I override your council. I am quite comfortable here, and here I shall stay," he said to the healer, a look of warning in his eyes.

"Very well, my Lord. I will bring you some tea and perhaps something to eat," Saleth acquiesced. Bowing, he left the room.

Gandalf turned to Faramir. "I do hope he doesn't try to drug our King or he will feel the wrath of Anduril," he said jokingly.

"I would hope that Saleth would never be that presumptive,” said Aragorn. And although it had been said in jest, Gandalf's remark planted a tiny seed of doubt in Aragorn's mind and his expression mirrored this.

Faramir laughed. "Oh, now you have done it, Mithrandir," he said.

Gandalf turned and smiled at Aragorn. "Fear not, my King. I sense no ulterior motives in the fine healer.“

The wizard turned towards the Steward. “Now, Faramir, since things seem to be under control, at least for the moment, what say you to a drop of soothing tea, a bite of something nourishing followed by a long nap?" he asked, with a wink.

"Why Mithrandir, I do believe your *are* a healer after all," Faramir quipped. He allowed himself to be helped up and using Gandalf's shoulder and one of his crutches, moved out of the room and down the hall to his own chambers. Valin decided to follow at a discrete distance and, thereby excuse himself from the room and avoid any unnecessary converse with the King. Aragorn shifted his gaze from his departing friends to the glowing countenance of his friend, sunk deep into the overfilled bed.

"By the Valar, Frodo, you have accumulated some strange yet loyal friends," he remarked. He smoothed back the curls on the warm forehead. "Perhaps Valin *has* saved you yet, my friend. I do believe you feel cooler. We will have to wait and see, I suppose. But I shall watch over you this night. You see, my small friend, you are too dear to too many to depart this life just yet. You must strive to come back to us, Frodo." He bent and planted a kiss on the Ringbearer's smooth forehead. He then sat in the soft chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him. He let his head rest against the wall, his left arm lay protectively on Frodo's right, and slowly, oh so slowly, his eyes slipped closed. It was in that position that Saleth found the three friends when he returned with the tray. He sighed, and taking a warm blanket from the hearth, draped it about the King.

He knelt in front of Aragorn and touched his heart and then his head in a salute of supplication and respect. He rose. "Sleep well, my King," he said softly before quitting the room.

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

Smoke and Mirrors

Chapter 17

The first thing Frodo became aware of as he slowly drifted towards consciousness, was the complete and total silence that pressed down upon him like a blanket. His desire to remain on that other realm was thwarted as his body struggled to the point of awareness. His eyes slowly cracked open, the blue depths adjusting to the dim light of the new day's dawn, which tried to penetrate the shuttered windows. A stab of pain brought him to full wakefulness as he tried to swallow, causing him to jerk in response. He slowly moved his head to the left and saw Sam nestled close into him, his left arm lay protectively over Frodo's chest. Turning slightly to the right he saw an unkempt figure, his head lay on the bed next to Frodo's right shoulder as slow, soft snores issued from his mouth. A sudden wave of vertigo assaulted Frodo from even his small movements. He tried to focus on the unknown person who slept so near but he could not see his face. He thought it might be Aragorn by the look of the disheveled hair. Frodo's right hand throbbed with each pulse of his heartbeat, an almost unbearable pain, and dark reminder of his failure to part with the Ring, except by force. His chest felt beaten and broken as if a troll had sat on him and his breaths came in ragged, harsh gasps. His throat was on fire, each nerve sending out a sharp throb as he tried to swallow. Weakness and exhaustion tore at him and he closed his eyes, letting his mind attempt to muddle through the chaotic thoughts that now besieged him. How long. How long had he slept. It felt like an eternity since he had felt well. Time had ceased to exist for him. He remembered speaking with Gandalf. Gandalf, dressed in pure white. Perhaps he had dreamt it. Thoughts of his parents, excursions with Merry and Pip, coexisted with visions of healers with medicines and bathes...all blended in a cacophony and bewildering mélange of indistinct impressions. He inhaled a deep breath and tried to calm the turmoil of racing images. He wanted to know what had happened to him, he wanted to remember, but found the whole idea a bit overwhelming at present, and decided to approach the matter from a different angle.

He had died. This he remembered; the feeling one of contentment, belonging, and serenity. The joyous realization that he was free of the pain and sorrow that had so racked his very soul and body. Suddenly a wave of deep depression assailed him. Loss filled him as realization set in and he knew that now there would be no peace, no escape from his failure and physical ailments. Now bereft of the light, the warmth and the fragile wisp of hope that he had briefly held, only to have it be broken and slip away, returning him back to the pain, sorrow and utter need for that which he could not have. A tear slid down his cheek as he loosed a single sob. His throat painfully hitched as he thought longingly, of the passing that had been his, but was no more. Thinking of only how very trapped he now was within this feeble body with all of its hurts, guilt and remorse, only to prolong this empty existence that was his life, caused him to weep in earnest.

Aragorn lifted his head slowly and gently wiped the tears from Frodo's face. "Ssshhhh, are you in great pain, little one?" he soothed. Frodo slowly turned his head to the right and locked sapphire eyes to gray. The look of confusion, and want evident in those blue depths caused Aragorn to recoil at the extent of pain his friend was enduring. "It will be all right, Frodo. I understand. I know what you have lost. I too, have had the experience of passing from this mortal plane and then being returned," his eyes took on a distant look. "It will fade, with time," he whispered. "Would you like some cool water? I admit, I have added cayenne tincture to it, but you shouldn’t notice the flavor overmuch." Frodo nodded slowly. Aragorn reached to the table and grasped the glass with the tincture. Gently he lifted Frodo's head and gave him a small sip of the mixture. Frodo's eyes opened wide with panic when he found he was unable to swallow. "Calm yourself, Frodo; your throat is quite raw. Come, take very small sips, and let it trickle down your throat”, he soothed. Frodo did as instructed and although it was still very painful, he was able to swallow some of the cool water. A look of relief covered his face. "More?" smiled Aragorn. Frodo nodded weakly. The cold cup reappeared, and sips were taken, the liquid sliding each time, down his throat like a balm until Frodo finally had his fill and turned his head away indicating that he was done.

Sam, feeling Frodo stir beside him, awoke with a gasp. "My stars, Mr. Frodo, you gave us such a fright," he exclaimed. "But here you are back with us, thank the Valar”, he continued happily. Frodo smiled wanly at his friend.

Aragorn placed his hand on the pale forehead and released a slow sigh. "The fever has broken. You are a constant amazement to me, Frodo,” he laughed. Frodo wanted to respond, to ask his questions but was unable to speak, his throat an agony. He looked up in puzzlement, his eyes filled with pain, at Aragorn, who seemed to read his thoughts. "You have been most ill this last night, Frodo. You have had the 'brain fever' and suffered convulsions, delirium and hallucinations uncounted. All hope seemed lost when we could not break the fever, but one of the healers....Valin came up with an ingenious treatment approach and now the fever has broken. You should make a full recovery. We had to put a reed down your throat to feed and medicate you. When it was removed, the lining of the throat was abraded. You have had some bleeding all the wall of your throat and must not try to talk, as that will slow the healing time. We are treating you with a cayenne tincture that will stop the bleeding and, of course, we will continue your other medicines to fight any linger of the fever. You are a very lucky hobbit, my friend. Almost all cases of brain fever result in death. I will prepare some medicines for the pain and swelling. Your chest, I am sure is quite sore as well?" Frodo nodded, his eyes slipped closed as he tried to swallow and his face contorted in fresh agony. "Let me examine the chest first all right, Frodo?" Frodo nodded. It mattered little to him what they did anymore. Aragorn lifted the nightshirt and grimaced at the dark blue bruising and swollen red marks that covered the small chest. "I am sorry, mellon, for the new injuries I have inflicted upon you." He felt the ribs, Frodo groaned and tried to pull away as each rib was touched. "I am sorry Frodo, but I must," said Aragorn as he pressed on each rib. "You have two maybe three cracked ribs. I will bind them so that they will heal properly," he said huskily. Strider turned to retrieve the materials required.

"Don't be too sorry there, Mr. Strider. I mean, after all, if it hadn't been for you, Mr. Frodo woulda' surely died what with him bein' so cold and all," said Sam conversationally. He gazed happily at his Master.

"Sam, perhaps now is not the time to regale Frodo with all the details...,” Aragorn said slowly as he turned around. He looked at Frodo. Frodo's eyes were wide, full of accusation. They stared into Aragorn's with a look of betrayal as he turned away from Aragorn's gaze.

"Nonsense, Mr. Strider. ‘He who does...gets', as me gaffer always says," Sam continued, oblivious to the anger that was now flushing Frodo's pale face or the stunned look now covering Aragorn's.

"Sam, please excuse us just one moment," Aragorn whispered.

"Why...what’s wrong? I haven't gone an' upset ya now, have I Mr. Frodo?" Sam looked anxiously at his Master. "I *am* a ninnyhammer, jus' like me gaffer says...'Sam, you ninnyhammer...' always goin' on and with you just awake and all," Sam rambled on apologetically. Frodo's eyes had closed and he was breathing in small gasps, tears falling freely down his gaunt face. "Are you all right, Mr. Frodo?" Sam said in alarm.

"Sam, please...just...I need a few moments alone with Frodo," Aragorn murmured.

"All right, I'll jus' go an' check on Mr. Pippin and Mr. Merry for a bit," Sam squeezed Frodo' hand and slowly lowered himself from the bed. He looked between Aragorn and Frodo, a concerned furrow between his eyes as he hesitantly left the room.

"Frodo, look at me," whispered Aragorn. Frodo refused to open his eyes, his head still turned away. "Please, Frodo. Look at me, implored Aragorn. Frodo very slowly turned his head, opened his haunted blue eyes.

"Why?" His voice was barely a whisper. "It was over, why prolong my agony?" he croaked. Aragorn moved to the bedside.

"You should not speak," said Aragorn softly as he stroked Frodo's forehead. He lifted the hobbit to his chest and cradled him there. Frodo struggled weakly, trying to push away, but Aragorn held him tight, and the hobbit was too weak to resist. He rocked him slowly. He looked down at Frodo who stared up at him, questioningly.

"How could you?" he gasped.

"How could I not, Frodo? There is less darkness in Middle Earth now because of you and all you have done. I could not allow this new light to dim, even but a little, by your absence. You think me cruel to 'prolong your agony', as you say. No man should choose his own time of death. You survived against hopeless adversity and came back to us from death's door. I could not let Sauron claim one more friend, a friend who glows with such inner beauty and light; a light that is needed more now than ever, here in *this* world. I could not. It was selfish but I wanted you to live. I have great hopes that you *will* live a joyful life back in your Shire," Aragorn cried.

"There is no hope. There is no joy. You have taken the one chance of that from me. You should have let me die," Frodo rasped. Then he began coughing a wet, ragged cough. Aragorn turned him to his side as he spat out a thick mucous mixed with bright red blood.

"Enough talk”, said Aragorn brusquely. "You may still get your wish, Frodo Baggins, but it will not happen while you are in *my* care," a defiant look filled his eyes as he placed Frodo back in bed. Frodo's eyes were open, but gazed emptily into space. "You *will* get better, Frodo. You cannot afford the luxury of felling sorry for yourself. Had it been Sam, Pippin or Merry, would you have had me do any less for them? Would you have let them die if it had been in your power to save them?" Frodo's eyes filled with tears, he closed them trying to block out Aragorn's speech and the anger he could hear with each word, but Aragorn was right and a niggling doubt now lay planted in his brain. He knew he could never have allowed his cousins or friends to perish if there had been even the smallest hope of saving them. Aragorn was now very angry. "Look at me!" He grabbed Frodo's face and turned it towards him, holding it between his two hands. "Open your eyes! Look at me." Frodo did so, sobbing and gasping. Aragorn locked eyes with him. "They need you...we all need you...you will *not* give up. You will not die, do you understand?" Frodo tried to pull away and close his eyes, but Aragorn shook his face, "Do you understand, Frodo?" he fairly shouted into Frodo's face. Frodo just stared up at him in defiance; his eyes empty until Aragorn finally released his face from his grip. Saleth rushed into the room upon hearing the raised voice of the King.

"My Lord, is everything all righ...?" He stopped and smiled. "Frodo, welcome back to the land of the living”, he said with warmth. Aragorn rolled his eyes and turned away at this. Frodo actually smiled weakly at the irony of Saleth's comment. "Was there a problem, my Liege?" he asked, looking at Frodo then at Aragorn in confusion.

"No, no problem. We were just...talking," said Aragorn quietly. "Frodo is still bleeding badly from his throat; we need to get it stopped now before he hemorrhages. In addition, he needs his other medicines and perhaps he could tolerate a heavier broth, make sure it is cool so as not to make the bleeding worse," he said tiredly.

"Very well, my Lord." Saleth moved to the hearth and poured the cooled broth into a cup then gathered the teas---athelas, Echinacea, Valerian root extract and the cayenne tincture. He brought them to the bedside.

"I am increasing the cayenne tincture dosage and frequency to hopefully stem the bleeding." Aragorn nodded, exhausted after his fight of wills with Frodo. He turned around and looked at Frodo as Frodo met his gaze. Aragorn could tell their 'conversation' had taken its toll on Frodo as well. He was trembling, his face flushed, and a light sheen of perspiration shown on his lip and forehead. Aragorn moved back to his side and went to place his hand on Frodo's forehead. Frodo tried to pull away, but Aragorn was insistent. "He is warm, but not feverish. The fever has broken, Saleth. Valin's cure worked”, he informed the healer. Saleth sighed, relief evident on his face. Saleth wondered at the reaction that the Ringbearer had shown towards the King when Aragorn had tried to check his temperature. There was more going on here than met the eye, he mused. The medicines were ready and he moved to Frodo's bedside.

Perching on the edge of the bed, he said, "All right, Master Baggins, we are ready to give you a treatment if you will just open your mouth a little." Frodo looked up at the healer and set his jaw. Slowly he shook his head. "I don't understand. You must take your medicine, Frodo or you will not recover. You have already shown remarkable improvement; surely you want to get better?" Saleth smiled. Frodo's eyes looked sad and regretful as he shook his head slowly. He almost felt sorry for the healer who could not understand his decision on this matter. Saleth's eyes moved quickly up to Aragorn's. Aragorn wore an expression of grim determination.

"Frodo has seen what awaits us all on the other side of this existence and is angry at being returned to endure this life. He has a death wish, Saleth," said Aragorn. Until we can make him see the error of his ways and open his eyes to the beauty that still exists here, in this world, we will have to force him to take our cures. This means two things to me. Number one: Frodo is indeed, feeling much better if he thinks he can fight off healers and Kings and number two: if we cannot get him to take the medicines orally..." he turned and looked pointedly at Frodo...."then we will prepare boluses and do it the hard way," he concluded with a slight smile. Frodo's eyes widened at the implications of having those "things" inserted into his bottom. He glared at Aragorn then slowly opened his mouth. A joyous Saleth began gently spooning the liquid in as Frodo struggled to swallow each spoonful. "Thank you, mellon," Aragorn whispered. "Let me help you to get well then show you that there is still beauty here as well, and that you still have much to see and live for." Frodo's left hand curled slowly around Aragorn's right as tears fell from the overlarge blue eyes.

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

Smoke and Mirrors

Chapter 18

A light breeze entered the sick room through the cracked window, carrying with it the heady aroma of flowers in full blossom. The refreshing fragrance bore testimony of the awakening of new life in the White City. Frodo slumbered, the bouquet lulling him into a warm half awareness. He drifted in this nether world, not quite asleep, not fully awake, allowing the earthy smells to soothe his distraught mind. Slowly he came to full wakefulness but kept his eyes closed, drinking in the feeling of security and serenity gathered from the sweet perfume. He took in a slow measured breath. He still ached from Aragorn's pummeling of his chest, but found the pain lessened each day. His throat and stomach were another matter. The pain was nearly intolerable. Teas made of comfrey, heavy with cream and honey, had been brought and he drank of them greedily, his malnourished body craving the sweet milk. His thoughts drifted to Aragorn and the tirade he had unleashed upon the King. Aragorn was right. He had been feeling sorry for himself and he knew he would have done everything in his power to save any one of his friends had they been on the threshold of this world and the next, as he had. Yet still he was confused, his mind in turmoil. He wished he had never seen that other world. That he could somehow forget the sheer seductiveness of the pure light and peace that resided there. He had to try. He needed to see if there really was yet a hope, no matter how minuscule, for him to have some semblance of happiness in this world. But how to accomplish this seemingly enormous undertaking? He was so very ill, the pain, at times, beyond succor. This, in and of itself, drove his mind to despair. He sighed and slowly opened his eyes. The deep blue depths cast about the room and settled on the white form seated to his left.

"Good morrow, my friend”, said Gandalf with a grin. Frodo smiled in return. He *hadn't* imagined or dreamt it after all. Gandalf was alive and well, and sitting here beside him. He opened his mouth to speak. "Ssshhhhush...tut, tut. Words are hardly necessary, dear fellow, your face and eyes are as a window into your soul. Besides, you are under very strict orders by the King himself, not to speak under any circumstances”, the wizard smiled and placed a warm hand on Frodo's forehead. "Do you remember how we "talked" before? Perhaps you could squeeze my hand and let me know how you are, my dear hobbit," he said, placing Frodo's left hand into his larger one. "Squeeze my hand if you are feeling any better,” a small squeeze. “Would you like to see Samwise or Aragorn now?" no squeeze was forthcoming. A furrow creased the Ringbearer's forehead and he turned away slightly. Gandalf's face became pensive. "Frodo, you have been through much. Are you regretful of your actions yesterday?" Frodo turned back and locked eyes with Gandalf, his gaze full of despair and self-loathing. "Dear boy, you have nothing to feel remiss about. What you went through would have had even the most content and happy of individuals wondering why they were here." Frodo looked hopeful at this. "No one *really* knows what awaits us on the next plane of existence, Frodo. I believe that it is kept a secret from us for the very reason of how it would effect each of us, should we glimpse it. First, you must decide how to live your life in this realm to the fullest, doing the best you can do with whatever time you are given. Do not dwell on "what ifs", ‘should haves" or "could haves". Allow yourself to take in all you can experience that the world has to offer." He smiled as he whispered to the attentive patient. Frodo listened carefully, hoping against hope that whatever the wizard said, he would feel better about himself and his actions. Gandalf was one of the wisest beings he had ever known. If there was hope or a reason for his being here, he held onto it coming from the kindly wizard. "Once you begin to feel more like yourself, I think you will view this experience differently...as a turning point. Perhaps a chance to start a new life with new hopes." He squeezed Frodo's hand and smiled. Frodo returned the smile, tentatively, pressing the larger hand. He hoped Gandalf was right, but still a cloud of uncertainty hung over his mind.

Suddenly his stomach roiled, a sharp pain stabbing at his abdomen. He tried to swallow down the nausea that had quickly come upon him. His mouth watered as he closed his eyes, trying to will it away. Gandalf noticing his distress reached for a basin and turned Frodo on his side. Frodo groaned and then retched repeatedly into the basin until nothing came up but bile tinged with blood. Gandalf wiped his pale face. Frodo's eyes grew wide again "More?" Asked, Gandalf his eyes widening. Frodo shook his head in the negative and squeezed Gandalf's hand tightly. The urgency was not lost on Gandalf and he swept Frodo up and seated him on the chamber pot, not a moment to soon. Frodo moaned, clutching his abdomen, a wave of vertigo overcoming him. Aragorn entered the room and upon seeing his friend in such distress, quickly closed the door. Frodo looked horribly drawn, his face gray and covered in a sheen of perspiration. Gandalf showed him the basin, looking up into Aragorn's eyes with deep concern. There were clots of blood floating amongst the emesis. Frodo shakily tried to stand, swayed violently, and was caught by Aragorn before he could crumple to the floor. The chamber pot too, was filled with bloody excrement. Frodo shivered violently, becoming a dead weight against Aragorn's chest.

"Gandalf, help me fill the copper tub with warm water please," Aragorn whispered. "And you, my friend try not to move or speak. Lie still and let us care for you," he murmured in soothing tones.

Frodo looked up at Aragorn, his eyes half opened, and gasped as he tried to breath. "I..am..sorry..Strider. You...were ...right. Help...me.," he said rasped.

"You MUST NOT speak, Frodo," Aragorn said sternly. Yet the ranger’s moist eyes belied his inner feelings. Frodo winced as he swallowed, then nodded slowly. "I am relieved that you are willing to give life a chance, Frodo. Our world would be lessened by your absence. Many would grieve dearly as you are loved more than you could ever know, and have already affected countless lives." Aragorn’s voice cracked and tears filled his eyes as he finger combed Frodo's curls back from the sweaty forehead. Frodo watched, transfixed by Aragorn's face and the tears filled the man’s eyes. He had never seen the King weep before and it moved him greatly. He clutched at Aragorn's hand. "First, little one, we must get you well then we will discuss the future," he said smiling. The bath was drawn and Frodo undressed and placed gently into the copper tub. Sweet smelling oils of lavender and thyme were added to the water. Aragorn first washed his hair and then his body, cleansing away the sweat and residue of illness that covered it. Finished, the King lifted Frodo out of the tepid water and wrapped him in warmed towels. The bed had been remade with soft linens, pillows, and blankets. An extra thick towel was placed under Frodo's bottom in case of any unforeseen accidents. Then Frodo was snuggled down into the soft haven, that enclosed him like an embrace. Aragorn called to Saleth who was just across the hall. He came immediately.

"Yes, my Lord."

"We will have need of more milk with comfrey and honey...and add some hypericum* to that as well, if you could." He lowered his voice "I will also need you to bring some boluses made with comfrey, cayenne, athelas, and catnip”. He added. Frodo's eyes widened as he heard this, but his grasp on consciousness was weakening and he was unable to object. "I am sorry Frodo," Aragorn said. "I was only bluffing earlier about the boluses," he smiled, “but, now it seems they *will* be necessary to replace the lost fluids and to give you the medicines you need to stop the bleeding." Frodo barely heard Aragorn as he said this, floating once again towards oblivion. Aragorn gazed down at the pale face and the glazed, half-opened blue eyes. "Before you rest, my friend, we must feed you," he whispered. He took the milk and comfrey mixture, heavily sweetened with honey, and then added the Valerian root extract. He began gently spooning small amounts into Frodo's mouth. Frodo swallowed, wincing and grimacing as the mixture slid down his abraded throat. The flavors awakened a ravenous hunger within the small body and he opened his mouth wider, hungrily swallowing the mixture in great gulps. "Slowly, Frodo, slowly," soothed Aragorn. "We want you to keep this down. No gulping, your throat can not tolerate it”, he smiled slowly. "It is good to see your appetite improving once more, I have to admit. I'll make sure you get as much as your stomach can hold, worry not." Frodo relaxed a little allowing Aragorn to feed him at a slower pace. Finally, he slipped into an uneasy doze, the liquid dribbling heedlessly down his chin.

Aragorn returned the cup to the table and washed the Ringbearer's face. Then he gently lifted Frodo onto his lap, his head resting in the crook of Aragorn's left arm. He looked to Saleth who had entered with the boluses, and with a nod, he gently bent Frodo's legs up to his chest. Frodo groaned but did not fight him. Aragorn then took the proffered bolus and gently inserted it into the small bottom. Frodo's eyes opened and his hand tightened on Aragorn's chest. "Try to relax, Frodo. We need to keep it in place as long as possible. Don't fight it”, Aragorn soothed. Frodo looked up at Aragorn, his eyes glassy, too ill to be humiliated at the intrusion. He sighed. Aragorn placed Frodo on his left side into the soft bed and covered him with the quilt. He placed pillows behind his curved back and legs. Then he took Frodo's right hand and gently started to unwrap the bandages. Frodo tried not to watch, the sight of the hand was like a dagger to his heart, forcing him to relive his failure at Mount Doom. Aragorn watched his expression and nodded to Gandalf, who came and sat beside him.

"You should not be ashamed of your wounds, Frodo. They were rendered in the service of Middle Earth and are symbols of courage and sacrifice. They hold a place of honor," said Gandalf. Frodo's eyes slit open and tears rolled down his face and onto the pillow. "Even if you *did* claim the Ring at the last, you must realize...and listen well, my young friend..." Gandalf's voice turned gruff "no other being...be it a mighty elf, a leader of men, a great wizard, or stout dwarf...no other being on this great world could have done what you have done. Frodo's chest hitched as he sobbed. "You were the only one who could carry it to Orodruin. This the council knew. But the key word here is *carry*, for that is what you said you would do. Not *destroy* It if you recall, that task was for another...but to *carry* it, and that you did. Never was more asked of one so small and innocent to the ways of evil." Gandalf's voice broke, his face crumpled in grief. "I would have done anything to have taken this burden from you, Frodo. Sauron would have you carry It still, but you must not allow this to happen, my friend, or he will be victorious after all that has been wrought. It is gone. You must rejoice at Its destruction and move on and rebuild your life.” He sighed, patting Frodo's hand. "We will help you bear this burden. We will help you recover from the torment that has been rent upon you," his voice was soft, and a thin smile touched his lips as he gazed into Frodo's eyes.

Aragorn wiped Frodo's face with a cool cloth. "No more tears, Frodo. The weeping will only irritate your throat. You will have to admit defeat, my friend; you are stuck with us whether or not you like it. We love you too much to lose you now,” he smiled. Frodo allowed a small smile to touch his lips. The hand lay exposed on the counterpane. The ring finger a blistered, blackened stump. Aragorn bent low over it, examining it closely. "It does not appear to be infected. We will remove this outer blackened skin, apply a healing balm, then re-wrap it," he murmured to himself. "Frodo, this may be a little uncomfortable." Frodo would have laughed out loud....a great roaring, howling, crazed, madman's belly laugh, if he'd had the energy to do so. The irony of the situation was unbelievable. Uncomfortable? In his current situation, his body wracked with pain, his head pounding, his chest aching, his bowels twisting...what was one more ache or throb? A weak smile on his lips, he closed his eyes and sighed. Tears still ran from the closed lids, tracking down his face. Aragorn carefully touched the ring finger causing Frodo to instantly recoil. It had not hurt, per se, he simply was loathe to have anyone examine or touch it. Aragorn glanced at Frodo's face and gently reached out again, capturing Frodo's hand in his. Then he carefully peeled off the blackened skin, revealing the shiny inflamed new skin underneath. He retrieved a bowl of warm athelas water and placed the hand in it to soak. Frodo gasped in surprise and pain. "I am sorry, Frodo, but I want to make sure the wound is completely clean before I re-wrap it. Frodo remained stoic, eyes closed. Gandalf began, in a lowered voice, to tell a story about Bilbo and how the hobbit had once crushed his finger between a gate and its post. Frodo knew the story and he knew Gandalf was trying to distract him, but the story was a humorous one and he found himself striving to listen, needing and enjoying the distraction. After some time, the story long finished, and Frodo smiling along with the wizard and King about the antics of his Uncle, Aragorn removed the hand from the basin and gently applied the balm of athelas and myrrh. He then re-wrapped the hand in many layers. "Now, my friend, let's check your chest." A loud sigh emanated from the Ringbearer and when the King locked eyes with him, he could tell the hobbit had nearly reached his limits. Aragorn and Gandalf both chuckled. "Why Frodo, it is not like you to be upset with my tending your injuries”, he quipped sarcastically. Frodo grinned slightly. "But, since you are my captive, I see no reason to not finish what we have started." Frodo rolled his eyes, but was too weak for any other form of resistance. Aragorn removed the quilt and lifting the nightshirt, revealed the battered chest. He took more of the balm and in a gentle circling pattern massaged it into the bruises. Frodo cried out, the pain intense even with the slight pressure. Aragorn apologized in soft tones then, pulling Frodo to him, began binding the chest with strips of gauze. Frodo was now openly weeping, gasping as each strip was laid tightly over the last. "I am very sorry to inflict further pain upon you, little one. But we must be certain the ribs are held firmly in place so that they will heal properly”, Aragorn explained in a low voice.

Once done, Frodo was completely spent. Never had he realized how tiring and painful being tended to could be. His eyes were half closed, his breaths harsh as he fought to remain awake. He tried to focus on Aragorn and Gandalf but could not get his eyes to clear. There was a fog descending upon him, muting all sound, until at last, he succumb and slipped into an exhausted sleep.

"That's right, Frodo. Don't fight it," Aragorn murmured. "Sleep a peaceful, dreamless sleep and tomorrow we will work on curing the non-physical injuries." A smile touched the King's lips. Injured even as he was, Frodo looked to be at peace as he lay resting.

"And how do you propose to do that, my dear Estel?" asked Gandalf.

"Ahhhh.....there are many things I hope to show our young charge, many faces and gifts of nature, to awaken in him that which he thinks is dead," Aragorn whispered cryptically, still gazing at the form of his friend as he placed Frodo’s hand atop the covers.

TBC

 

* Hypericum is also known as St. John's Wort, although that name would not have been given to it during this time period.


	19. Chapter 19

Smoke and Mirrors

Chapter 19

Sam was pacing. He had been placed, unceremoniously, in the room with Merry and Pippin. After their initial greetings to one another, he had been unable to sustain the normal hobbit small talk and began his walking rote, his thoughts in turmoil. From the time Sam had first met Mr. Frodo as a wee lad at Bag End, he had felt in awe of his new Master. Frodo had lost his parents and had been adopted by Mr. Bilbo who brought him then to Bag End. Sam had been introduced to Frodo and his quick smile, un-hobbit like appearance and ways, and generous spirit. He had known right from the start, they would become fast friends. While the Gaffer had told him, in no uncertain terms, this simply could never be---him steppin' outta his place and all, Frodo had whole heartedly embraced Sam as his equal. When the Gaffer had seen how Mr. Frodo had wished for this new bond, he had let it be, no matter how unnatural it was, a gentlehobbit befriending a servant. Still, some of Sam's upbringing had rubbed off, and he hadn't been able to drop the 'Mr.'or 'Master' or stop doin' for Mr. Frodo. After all, that was his job. He still was the servant and Frodo the master. But they also shared things that friends shared--time together with an ale on the porch, visiting friends, long walks, heavy meals and a general understanding of each other, learned through the unconditional love of friendship. And now those healers wanted Sam to just let Mr. Frodo be cared for by others, who didn't know him and his ways like Sam did. It was too much to stand for, it was. Sam knew only that *he* would know what Frodo needed or wanted, usually before even Frodo did. So he paced, waiting until they finally allowed him access to his friend. He watched Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin while he fumed. They were carrying on a lively conversation comparing Elven cuisine with that of Minas Tirith and the Shire, while they devoured a huge meal of roasted meats, sausages, vegetables, fruits, baked dainties and desserts all followed by a robust wine. Sam had eaten little. The food had no flavor to him even after going so long without. He was simply too worked up about his Master. He glanced up at Pippin. You would'a never known the pain the tweener had been in earlier. His eyes shown with their normal impishness and he gestured frequently with his arms and hands. _He's trussed up like a Yule ham_ , thought Sam. And indeed the leg that had been crushed and re-broken lay on a board, elevated into the air by a strange pulley contraption. Bandages thoroughly covered the extremity all the way from his furry toes to his hip. His ribs were bound as well Sam knew, but he couldn't see them as they were hidden by the nightshirt. Merry still favored his right arm, but Sam noticed it hadn't slowed him down much when the meal had arrived. The only difference Sam could really see in both of them was how fast they became fatigued, Pippin especially. When Mr. Pippin became tired, the pain became unbearable, the healers would bring frequent doses of some strange paste, place it in his mouth and then the pain would recede and he would sleep. Merry had rejected the paste, but the healers still brought sleeping droughts at regular intervals and made him drink them. They also tried to get Merry to use his right hand in simple exercises, but Merry said he was fine and looked almost embarrassed when they made mention of it. Frequently, Sam noted, the hand lay curled like a claw in his lap. They had let Sam be for the time being, knowing he would refuse their medicines until he was reconciled with his Master. Pippin and Merry had asked countless questions of Sam when he had been escorted into the room. He had supplied as much information as he could, but when he came to the part of Frodo's reaction to Aragorn's resuscitation, the room had become quiet and the expressions solemn. Pippin and Merry had looked sadly at each other then down at their laps.

"I don't understand. He should'a been grateful for all Mr. Strider did for 'em." Sam had said.

"Sam, maybe Frodo's in so much pain and been through so much, that...well, maybe he didn't *want* to live," Merry had said hesitantly. Pippin's eyes had teared up just trying to imagine what had hurt his cousin so badly to make him not want to live, leaving him lost, empty and filled with such despair. Merry's face was wet as he looked up at Sam. Sam had been aghast; refusing to believe any of this even though, deep down, he knew it was likely true.

"Not Mr. Frodo. He'd never give up after all we've been through together, an all. He wouldn't wanna die, would he?" Tears flowed down Sam's anguished face as he thought of his poor Master being in so much pain and carrying such a burden on his mind that he would sink into such depths of despair.

"Sometimes, Sam, when people feel such a deep, empty ache like what Frodo must be feeling, they give up hope," whispered Merry. "Our job is to make sure he doesn't give up and knows how very much we love him. We can help him by making him talk to us about whatever's bothering him--work through this together."

Sam looked up a Merry, then Pip. Both had determined looks on their faces. He set his jaw, "You're right, Mr. Merry. Mr. Frodo's not alone long as he's got us. He needs to know we're in this all together, and I'll not be lettin' him shut hisself off like he usually does, if you take my meanin'. I mean to get him well and outta that bed and no feelin' sorry for himself neither. That never got anyone anywheres." Goal in mind, and ready for action Sam turned towards the door. "I mean ta see him, and nobody's gonna stop me," he muttered as he walked swiftly to the door. But as he neared it, it swung towards him, a healer and Aragorn entering.

"Ahh...Master Samwise, You have a most determined set to your body. I wonder where you could be going," said Aragorn with a smile.

"You know very well where I'm off to...to see Mr. Frodo," he said.

"Sam, sit down first with Merry and Pippin, and let me tell you a few things," said Aragorn as he guided the gardener back to the bed. "Frodo is much improved today." Smiles of hope were exchanged between the three companions. "The brain fever seems to have abated but he is still very weak and he has sustained damage to his throat and stomach, which is bleeding." All three hobbits gasped.

"My poor Master. Is there nothin' you can do?" asked Sam

"Sam, we are doing all we can to help your master, you must believe that," said Aragorn. "With his friends' help, I believe he will make a full recovery. When Frodo first became aware that he had been brought back from whatever awaits us in the next realm, he was very bitter." The hobbits looked saddened, Aragorn noted, but still an air of hope seemed to linger. He smiled at them. "Other people I have known have felt this same way. It must be a wondrous place for so many to struggle against being returned to this world," Aragorn murmured looking thoughtful. "Each day he will draw further and further from his memories of that blessed place. As he does so, he will be more and more receptive to the beauty of this world, but it will take time. First, we need to get him well." He looked into Merry and Pippin's eyes. "I think you will agree that being ill can be very depressing." Pip and Merry nodded, "and Frodo has had more than his share of ills and hurts. Once he actually *feels* like living, then we can restore his mental health. In the meantime, we can try to lift his spirits by visiting him”, Aragorn smiled.

Pippin looked anxiously at Aragorn. "Strider, how can I visit Frodo if I'm attached to this monstrosity?” asked Pippin. He looked worriedly at Merry, fearing he would miss out on the adventure and have to remain behind. Merry gave him a reassuring smile.

"Well, since Pippin can not be moved for a good long while, I thought that if Frodo was feeling up to it, we might bring him here," said Aragorn.

"Oh, that would be wonderful," cried Pippin. "We could tell him all about the things we've seen and done, Merry. The Ents, Isengard and the great battle and ...." he said in a rush.

"Whoa..Pippin, first, you need to realize Frodo is only awake for small periods of time and that he is very weak and that he can not speak because his throat is badly abraded. You will have to be calm and quiet with him, or he could become confused and agitated, which would prolong his recovery. He needs soft, soothing and comforting sounds and to feel secure and loved. Can you do this? If not, I need to know, for I cannot bring him from his warm, quiet nest into a tumult of activity and sound. It would be more than he could bear," explained Aragorn.

"Strider we will do whatever you tell us to make him well again," said Merry. Pippin nodded, although he was disappointed at having to hold off on his tale.

"I need to go see how Frodo fares this morning. If he seems to be improving and if the bleeding has slowed, I will bring him down for a *brief* visit. Sam, you may come with me and stay by Frodo's side if you desire”, Aragorn grinned at Sam, who beamed back at him.

"I was headin' that way when you came in, if you take my meanin', King Strider. I weren't gonna letcha stop me from seein' me Master, no how," he said firmly. Strider raised an eyebrow, and Sam squirmed under his gaze. "What I mean ta say, Mr. Strider is that me and Mr. Frodo are like brothers, only me bein' his servant and all, it's probably not proper of me to say so. But that's how it feels to me. I'd do anything for Mr. Frodo, and it's right hard to be separated from 'em. I can read 'em like a book, sir. I've been by his side since I were just a lad. He needs me, he does, sometimes he just don't know it," Sam said earnestly.

Aragorn placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, "Samwise, I think you may be the best medicine yet to cure your Master of what ails him. Let us go and see if a visit is in order, shall we?" Aragorn rose and said his good-byes to Merry and Pippin who hugged Sam fiercely as he left.

"Tell him we're thinking of him, all right Sam?"

"That I will Mr. Merry, that I will," Sam said. Pippin was beginning to look very tired and as Aragorn and Sam left the room, Valin entered, bearing medicine for the battered hobbit.

"You'll stay with me, won't you, Merry?" murmured Pippin as his eyes slipped slowly closed.

"Yes my dear, always," said Merry as he caressed Pippin's locks. Nevertheless, he looked longingly after Aragorn and Sam, he very much wanted to see his older cousin but did not want to leave Pippin alone. He sighed and curled up next to Pip, gradually relaxing, his arm lying across his small cousin. Sam moved as swiftly as his short legs would carry him, down the corridor.

Aragorn caught him in two strides. "Slow down, Sam. You are still recovering yourself. Your feet are badly lacerated still and it appears, the bandages are greatly in need of changing”, Aragorn looked at the bloody, filthy wrappings with a frown. He picked Sam up and placed him on his hip. "I shall carry you, and when we get to Frodo's room I plan to change those wrappings."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Strider, sir. I wouldn't let the healers touch them, in case you came for me whilst they were workin' on 'em. They weren't real pleased with me neither, with me not takin' their medicines and all," Sam said. Aragorn's expression turned to one of concern.

"Sam, you can not continue to neglect your health. It would not bode well for Frodo if you became ill yourself." The King said this carefully, his eyes surreptitiously shifting over to see Sam's reaction. He knew of Sam's deep devotion to his master and by using Frodo as an excuse, hoped to manipulate Sam into taking better care of himself.

"I *am* a ninny hammer! I guess I just weren't thinkin', me bein' so worried about him and all," Sam exclaimed. Aragorn smiled slightly as they walked into Frodo's room. Frodo was curled up on his left side, his right hand held against his chest. Although his eyes were closed, his breaths were coming in rapid pants and his face wore the distinct expression of someone in anguish.

"Saleth, is there a problem?" he queried.

"No, my Lord. The bleeding has lessened but not completely stopped. I was about to insert another bolus."

"Now I understand the look of apprehension on Frodo's face," Aragorn said with a grimace. He whispered to Sam.

"Sam, Frodo does not yet know that you are here, perhaps if you would hold his hand and comfort him. Remember, no loud noises or sudden movements. Frodo's nervous system is till recovering and it takes little to agitate him, which in turn, affects him bodily in an adverse way," Aragorn whispered. When he saw Sam's blank, confused stare, he smiled and said, "It makes him sick."

"Oh, I see what yer sayin'. Don't you worry none, I'll see to me Master”, said Sam. Aragorn set him down and he slowly walked over to Frodo's bedside and took the clenched fist in his own small hand. Frodo's eyes slowly opened and he smiled slowly as he saw Sam by his side.

"Sam, oh...Sam, I have missed you so," he whispered, his voice cracking. Tears now ran down his face and onto his pillow.

"Frodo, absolutely no talking”, admonished Aragorn with a look at Saleth.

"He yearns to express himself, my Lord”, Saleth smiled. "It would be hard indeed to see your loved ones and not be able to speak with them," he continued.

"Yes, I understand. But we must curtail all use of his throat until the bleeding is fully stopped, or risk another tear”, said Aragorn sadly. Frodo continued to smile at Sam and Sam was more than happy to return the favor. He spoke to Frodo softly and caressed his arm. Saleth moved to the bed and pulled back the counterpane revealing only Frodo's backside. Again, Frodo began to breathe rapidly and drops of perspiration appeared on his upper lip and forehead.

"There, there, Mr. Frodo. These healers are tryin' ta make you better. They don't mean no harm. I know about them boluses. Me mum used to give them to me when I was a wee lad. It's a might humiliatin' and uncomfortable but it sure does the trick, if you see my point, Master Frodo. It'll make you right as rain, it will. So you just relax and I'll not leave your side, maybe a little song would help. Would ya like that, Mr. Frodo?" Frodo opened his eyes a crack and nodded, then closed them again. Sam began a soft melody, one the elves had taught him in Rivendell. He knew his elvish was atrocious but while singing, the words fairly flowed effortlessly off his tongue, creating a haunting, beautiful ballad. He saw that he was having the desired effect, as Frodo began to slowly relax, his breathing becoming more deep and regular, his face took on a calm, serene appearance. Saleth slowly inserted the bolus into Frodo's tiny bottom. Frodo's eyes opened wide and a small gasp escaped his lips. He whimpered and then his eyes slid shut. "See now, Master, it's all done and no one's the worse for it," said Sam soothingly.

Aragorn took Saleth aside to speak out of earshot of the hobbits. "How fares he, truly, Saleth?" asked the King.

"He improves each day. The bleeding and swelling in his throat has receded." He hesitated, a troubled look on his face.

"What troubles you so then, Master Healer?" asked Aragorn.

"We have been feeding him the cream with honey, comfrey, Echinacea, myrrh and poppy extract about every hour," he hesitated. Aragorn nodded for him to continue. "I noticed at each dose he becomes more and more agitated at the mixture's arrival and tries to gulp it. I fear he is developing an addiction to the poppy's effects”, he finished sadly.

"Is he in much pain?" asked Aragorn, alarmed at this news.

"Yes, I am sorry to say he still is. Otherwise, I would have reduced the dose to wean him from it."

"Perhaps the pain is a phantom one, as it becomes closer to the time of his next dosing the addictive nature of the drug could possibly have created the illusion of pain," prompted Aragorn.

"Perhaps. Yet when he becomes stressed or excited he begins to fever and retch, so I have not tested this theory as yet," replied Saleth.

"When is his next dosing?" asked Aragorn.

"I was about to give it to him now, my King. But first I wished to speak with you and give him a thick soup with pureed vegetables in a heavy meat base." Aragorn nodded. Saleth approached the bed and pulled Frodo into a semi- reclining position against his chest.

"I can do that, Mr. Saleth. I'd like to take care of me Master, no offense intended to you," Sam said softly.

"None taken, Master Samwise. Why don't you support Frodo and I will feed him. Would that be acceptable?"

Sam grinned and said "Aye, sir. I'd be delighted." Saleth lifted Sam to the head of the bed and settled Frodo so that his head rested against Sam's left shoulder.

"Thank....you....Sam," came a whispered voice. A small smile formed on Frodo's pale face.

"I will not mention this again, Master Baggins, you will not speak. Each time you do so, it risks further bleeding. Do we understand each other?" Saleth said sternly. Frodo nodded, but had a twinkle in his eye that neither Saleth nor Aragorn had seen for a long time. The cream mixture was brought and placed on the bedside table. Frodo's eyes followed the orderly as he brought the poppy mixture in and placed it within reach of the healer. Aragorn noted Frodo's eyes stayed riveted on the mixture and held an unsettling, glazed appearance --- the unmistakable look of need. Frodo licked his chapped lips and swallowed several times as his mouth began to water at the prospect of the cream and honey mixture. Both Saleth and Aragorn too noticed this. Aragorn groaned inwardly. There was only one way to truly test what he suspected, and he flinched at the thought of the possible outcome. Saleth retrieved the broth mixture. At first, Frodo refused, not really wanting the broth but the other mixture in its stead. Aragorn went to the side table, took the milk mixture, and made to exit the room. Frodo's mouth dropped open and a thin wail issued forth. "It's all right, Frodo. I will return with your medicine as soon as you have finished your broth," Aragorn said slowly. Frodo turned back to Saleth and opened his mouth, allowing Saleth to slowly begin feeding him. Each swallow was met with a stabbing, burning pain. Yet Frodo knew that if he could just get through the ordeal of eating that then he could have the milk and honey mixture which always made him feel inordinately better. Aragorn left the room and went to the dispensary. He approached the healer. "I would like this mixture re-made with half of the poppy extract it normally has," he said.

"Very well, my Lord," said the healer. The mixture was made ready and Aragorn took it back to Frodo's room. Frodo's eyes had not left the doorway, and when Aragorn returned, he issued an audible sigh of relief. He had only eaten about half of the broth mixture but now turned his head to indicate he was full.

"All right, let's get you your medicine and let you rest a bit," said Saleth. He reached over, taking the cup from Aragorn's hand. They exchanged a brief glance, and Aragorn nodded. Frodo now looked anxiously at the cup and eagerly tried to reach out and grasp it with his shaking hands. His face was flushed with want and the perspiration now beaded his forehead.

"Easy, Mr. Frodo, Saleth will take care of you, but you have ta take your medicine," Sam cajoled, completely misinterpreting the tenseness he now felt in his master's thin frame. Saleth brought the cup to Frodo's lips and he gulped greedily.

"Master Baggins," he said pulling the cup away, eliciting a panicked look on the Ringbearer's thin face. Aragorn winced as he watched. "You will drink slowly--no gulping, or I will remove the cup”, the healer admonished. A stricken look crossed Frodo's face. The cup was again pressed to his lips and this time, Frodo slowly swallowed the contents. There was pain, but Frodo hardly noticed as the effects of the drug began to surge through him, making it bearable. His eyes half closed in a look of rapture as he was returned, once again, to that place of soft, unfocused oblivion. He let himself drift in that divine plane, feeling naught but a warm fuzziness fill his mind. The cup emptied, his face was wiped, and he was lain down and nestled into his blankets, curled on his side as before.

"Sam, why don't you rest with him," Aragorn murmured in a sad voice.

"Thank you, Strider. I'll just curl up here against him so he knows I'm here for 'em," said Sam happily. Frodo's eyes had closed, his body totally relaxed. Sam climbed under the covers, curling up around Frodo's back and placing one arm protectively over his Master.

Aragorn turned to Saleth and said quietly, "I believe we have a problem with our small patient, but we will not know for sure until the half hour has passed”, he said grimly. Aragorn and Saleth gazed sadly at the two sleeping forms. Aragorn felt a tight band of anguish in his chest. If what was happening to Frodo was what Aragorn suspected, the next few days would be very difficult. He's been through so much, he thought, more than any other. I pray he will be spared further torture, he thought.

TBC


	20. Chapter 20

Smoke and Mirrors

Chapter 20

Frodo was drawn from the wondrous place of warm contentedness by the stabbing, throbbing pain in his right hand, his throat and stomach ached with fresh agony as well. He curled in on himself, hoping to ease and wish it away. For some reason, he felt restless and tried to turn onto his back. Sam was sleeping curled up against him, soft snores issuing from his chapped lips. He could not remember feeling this anxious and wretched for some time. Always he had slept the deep and dreamless sleep of the blessed, without pain and awoke feeling relaxed and amiable. Now he felt none of these things. He tossed and twisted in anxiety and need, his very skin seemed to itch in desire for something he could not give. Finally he opened his eyes and looked querulously around the room, feeling ready to pounce and pummel the first thing he saw. His eyes alighted on Aragorn, who sat beside him watching him closely. Frodo's eyes met Aragorn's with a mixed look of anger and confusion.

"Frodo, how fair you, my friend?" he said with concern, offering his hand for Frodo to squeeze a reply. Frodo took Aragorn's index finger and squeezed hard. Aragorn recognized immediately what he had hoped he would not see in the small patient. He sighed. "It appears, my dear friend, you have developed an addiction to the pain killer," he said softly. Frodo did not care. He had heard what Aragorn had said, but all he felt was an empty hollow inside of him. It mattered little if this emptiness was brought on by pain, despair or desire for the drink, he wanted relief. He felt like his insides were being ripped apart. His breathes came rapidly and his face broke out in a sheen of perspiration as his eyes roved about the room desperately looking for succor.

His gaze then moved back to Aragorn, "Medicine," he whispered.

"No talking, Frodo. You will have to be strong and wait until your next dose, I'm afraid. I realize I am asking a great deal of you, but you must trust me on this, little one," said Aragorn sadly. Frodo's eyes widened with a look of desperation

"Hurts. Give it to me, PLEASE," he implored huskily. His voice broke and he began coughing.

"I know it hurts , Frodo, but I can not dose you again for another half hour. I am sorry. Truly. How would you like some broth instead?" Aragorn said, completely ignoring the fact Frodo had spoken again.

"Medicine," Frodo cried louder this time. Tears coursed down his face. Aragorn looked sadly at his friend, feeling the frustration at not being able to do more for Frodo. He brushed back the tangled locks. Frodo's face was flushed and his eyes glazed over. He rolled over, Sam moving to allow him to lie on his back. He started to twist back and forth moving his head from left to right on his pillow, his whole body trembling as the muscles spasomed..

"What's wrong with him, Mr. Strider?" asked Sam with concern.

"He is experiencing a form of withdrawal. We've been forced to begin weaning him from his pain medicine, as he has become addicted to its effects," said Aragorn sadly as they watched the Ringbearer expend all of his energy writhing before them.

"Help me, Sam...Please, Hurts," husked Frodo. Frodo knew that Sam would intervene. Sam was there for him, always had been, and now he relied on this fact in order to obtain the calming drink.

"You can't just let him suffer. There must be something you can do!" demanded Sam looking on the wretched form of his Master and then back to Aragorn.

"There is little we can do, Sam." said Aragorn, his eyes moist. "He needs distraction, which we will offer once we get him past this first bout . I care for him too, Sam. We can ease his suffering by bathing him and giving him another bolus with more catnip and Valerian root. The Valerian root is addictive, but not so much as the poppy extract," murmured Aragorn. "Sam, would you fetch Saleth for me, please?" he asked.

"Of course, Mr. Strider," he climbed from the bed and scurried towards the door. He turned back to Strider, "I know you only mean the best for me Master, Mr. Strider, I just hate so to see him in such pain," then he turned and ran out.

"I am sorry Frodo, to put you through this." said Aragorn. Frodo gave Aragorn a look of anger and disgust and then a small wail escaped his lips as his stomach clenched. His face turned very pale. Aragorn touched his hand to Frodo's forehead, drawing back from the hot yet clammy feel of the skin. Frodo squeezed Aragorn's finger suddenly with what the King recognized as a sense of urgency. He quickly rolled Frodo to his side, grabbing a nearby basin, into which Frodo retched repeatedly. Finally, the nausea passed, he rolled Frodo to his back and placed a cool cloth on his forehead. He wiped his mouth and gave Frodo a small sip of water to rinse with. Then he examined the basin's contents. It mostly contained bile and broth, but was tinged with a bright pink mucous indicating fresh blood. He moved to the sideboard and prepared the bolus ingredients. Valerian root to calm him, catnip- a light pain killer, comfrey and myrrh for the bleeding. He filled the bolus and went to Frodo's side. "This will calm you until we can give you your next dose of the drink, Frodo.” Frodo was so miserable by now, he did not care what Aragorn did. His guts twisted and his mouth filled with the coppery taste of blood. He opened his eyes and looked at Aragorn, an imploring look filled his eyes. He cried out and curled into a ball on his side as wave after wave of stabbing pain assailed him.

Saleth entered. "So, it has begun, I see," he said grimly.

"Yes, Master Healer, help me with the insertion of the bolus and then have orderlies draw him a warm bath, please," said Aragorn. The orderlies were called and soon steaming hot water was mixing with cool in the small copper tub. The muscles in Frodo's legs began to contract painfully, and he cried out as new flares of pain gripped his already ravaged body. Saleth began massaging the legs, working out the cramps and knots, as Aragorn took some fresh athelas and bent over the steaming tub. He murmured to himself a blessing to Eru as he cast the leaves upon the water. The room filled immediately with the fresh, relaxing fragrance of glades and earth freshly turned. All within the room inhaled the soothing aroma, even Frodo appeared to calm a bit. Aragorn then gently lifted Frodo and placed him slowly into the bath. At first Frodo tensed as the warm water enveloped him, but then his eyes closed and he felt utter peace wash over his mind and body as the warm water and fragrant herb combined to soothe and ease the tension from him. Aragorn bathed him slowly, washing his sweat soaked hair and body in light gentle strokes. Frodo leaned into the feeling of being cared for, each touch a sweet caress on his tortured frame. A great sigh escaped his lips as he allowed his mind to float un-tethered. Adrift in this semi-conscious state, his muscles slowly un-tensed and the anxiety abated leaving him utterly spent. Orderlies came and changed the bedding. Broth and medicines were brought and placed on the small table by the bed. After sometime, as the water became cool, Aragorn lifted Frodo out and wrapped him in toweling, gently drying the small body and head. He placed him back in his cocoon, covering him in soft linens and quilts. Sam stood by watching, transfixed by the effects a simple bath could have on his master. He moved to the bedside and took Frodo's hand in his. "First, some broth for nourishment Frodo, for you have had a difficult morning and need to remain strong for what is yet to come," said Aragorn softly. Sam moved up on the bed and gently placed Frodo against his chest. Frodo seemed completely oblivious as to what was expected of him, only staring, eyes half lidded, off into space. The broth was offered and he turned away, not liking the smell or wanting the taste of the mixture in his mouth.

"Now Mr. Frodo, eat just a little and then perhaps you'll feel a mite better," cajoled Sam. Frodo tilted his head up at Sam with a look of despair that fairly wrenched the gardener's heart to breaking. "Please, Mr. Frodo. Please, just a few sips, for your Sam," he pleaded. Frodo's expression changed to one of futility and he allowed Aragorn to slowly spoon the mixture into his mouth. He swallowed automatically, his throat clinching in pain each time, making him grimace. Aragorn and Saleth noted this and Saleth went to retrieve the comfrey tea. After a few swallows of the broth the tea was offered. It was a mixture of comfrey, a small amount of Valerian root, Hypercum, for the depression that still assailed the hobbit, and catnip. Frodo dutifully drank the tea and found the throbbing gradually decreased in his throat and even in his hand. Aragorn nodded to Saleth and a small cup of the cream mixture was then retrieved from the medicine room, along with a small amber bottle. These were placed on the bedside table. Frodo watched intently as his beloved sweet milk was then mixed with a very small amount of the liquid in the amber bottle.

"We shall slowly wean you from the poppy extract, Frodo. But we will try to do it so as not to cause you undo discomfort. We know you are in a lot of pain, my friend, but I think we need to switch you to a combination of other, milder painkillers, so that you will not be so dependent on this drug," whispered Aragorn. Frodo's eyes reflected fear at the prospect of losing the one thing that seemed to bring him true relief. The absolute escape and surcease the mixture offered him could not be found in any substitute, to his mind, and his need...his very craving of the wondrous antidote now completely ruled him. He watched as Aragorn mixed and stirred this new dosage. His mind, now fully awake, his body tensed and shook as he saw the cup come closer to him and knew, that soon, he could return to the oblivion and warmth of that one place the drug drew him to. He reached out, whimpering as Aragorn brought the cup to him, all his energy bent on attaining the object of his desire and the ecstasy that it brought. He cared little if it was drug induced or a naturally occurring release. All he wanted was the escape from this world, the free floating sensation that would encompass his mind, driving out pain, guilt, worry, replacing it with a numbness where there was no room for thought of any kind. Aragorn stopped, cup in hand, as he watched with pity, the face of his friend. Frodo's countenance and body poised like a tense thread in anticipation and desire, and he was saddened by what he saw.

"Aragorn...I must have it. Please Aragorn, bring me the cup. Please," he wailed, his voice rising higher and higher until he began to choke and sob.

"Shush, Frodo. It is all right. I will not withhold it from you, my friend. Calm yourself and do not speak," whispered Aragorn. Frodo visibly forced himself to breathe more deeply and slowly until a semblance of calm returned to his features. Aragorn placed the vessel to his mouth, Frodo immediately grabbed at the King's wrist tightly so that he could not pull away, and gulped greedily at the contents. But when Aragorn threatened to remove the drink, Frodo slowed the gulping to small swallows. Aragorn's eyes never left his. Finally the mixture was gone, much to Frodo's disappointment and the cup placed next to the amber bottle on his bedside table.

"More, please, Aragorn?" he rasped.

"No, my friend. Find peace in the fact that I have given you any this hour. You shall need less of it as the days go on as we reduce the dosage," he whispered. Frodo turned his face away, tears of loss and grief fell from his eyes. Sam extracted himself from behind his master and moved to lie beside Frodo, placing Frodo's head on his shoulder.

"It's all right, Mr. Frodo. There are other ways to relieve your pain and we shall use those. You don't need no drug to enjoy the greatness of Middle Earth, we'll see to that, mind you," he said. Frodo gave his friend a weak smile. Lucky Sam, he thought, you will never understand the pull of things that are beyond your control. First, it was the Ring and now the medicine. Oh, that I could be free of the need, the ache, the loss of these precious things, as you are. But I am weak, not strong like you, Sam. I have nothing but these things to keep me alive. I have no Rosie or even the Shire any longer, only those things I can not have make me want to continue. A small sob escaped him and he wept. Sam wiped the tears away and murmured to him over and over 'I will help you, Mr. Frodo. I will carry you when you feel you cannot go on, for I love thee dearly, my Master.' Frodo listened and thought how undeserving he was to have such a friend as Samwise Gamgee. The last thing he saw as he slipped into the soundless, blissful contentment of the awaiting abyss, was Sam's gentle, loving smile as he stroked Frodo's curls.

TBC


	21. Chapter 21

Smoke and Mirrors

Chapter 21

When Frodo awoke, not more than a half hour later, he was alone and was once again, being assaulted by the dull throb of his wounds, and the craving for the blessed relief the elixir brought. There was a soft knock at the door and a round, red faced woman entered. She wore the garments of an apprenticing healer and slowly approached where he lay.

"I'm sorry if I woke you, Master Periannth, but thought perhaps you would like some cool water to drink," she spoke quietly.

"You have not awoken me, dear lady. I am rather thirsty, would you mind pouring me a cup?" Frodo asked huskily.

"Not at all, kind sir," she replied and from a large earthenware pitcher, poured the water into a smaller earthen cup. Then she lifted his head gently and brought the cup to his lips. He drank greedily, the water cool and sweet to his parched mouth.

"More, please," he whispered. Again she filled the cup and he drank perhaps half before feeling sated. She refilled the cup and placed it within reach on the bedside table beside the pitcher, bowed slightly and withdrew, closing the door behind her. Frodo’s eyes rested on the pitcher and the dewy beads that covered it. A shaft of light that had found entrance to his room through the window curtains, alighted on a small bottle sitting next to the pitcher. The bottle glowed with brilliant hues of yellow and gold as if somehow lit from within. It was no larger than Frodo's small fist and he reached out for it with a trembling hand. He was quite weak and noticed that this small effort caused him to break into a sudden drenching sweat, his whole body trembling with exertion. Finally, he attained his goal and looked carefully at the small amber container. It was perhaps half full and a small paper on the side stated that it was 'Elixir of Poppy.' Frodo closed his eyes, shuddering, as he grasped the slim flask to his chest. This was the wonderful drug that Aragorn had spoken of, that had ensnared him so easily with the promise of sweet oblivion. He knew he was being weaned and, for the barest moment, hesitated about what to do with this liquid enchantress. He did not want to ever be held in the clutches of obsession and need, as he had with the Ring. But this was different, wasn't it?, his mind rationalized. This cured a pain that ensnared only himself, and unlike the Ring, Middle Earth would not fall if he partook of such a little thing. Then it would be gone, his weaning time possibly extended, but the pain he now felt would diminish and he could rest again. He would be stronger next time, he argued. He would eat and rest and be physically able to resist the call of the drug. So he decided, just this last time, he would give in and no one would be the wiser. He smiled gently to himself, feeling justified that this wasn't such a terrible thing after all. Once he quelled the need and the pain, he would be able to plan better. He would be prepared for the next time the dark mistress would seduce him. He pulled the cork from the bottle with his teeth and upended the contents into the earthen pitcher. Then he grasped the small cup and poured water back into the small bottle to the point where it had been before. He spilled a great deal of water down his nightshirt and onto the bed linens, but hardly noticed so absorbed was he in his task. He re-corked the bottle, wiping it free of the dribbles of water and returned it to its place. It winked at him, struck by the shaft of sunlight, as if to mock him for his weakness and deceit. He hesitated, now not sure of himself and what he had done. How had it come to this, he thought. Frodo Baggins, honorable gentlehobbit of the shire, pilfering medicine like he used to pinch pipe weed from his Uncle Sara at Brandyhall. Guilt overcame him as he lie back, his clothing plastered to his skin with sweat. He groaned. His stomach suddenly clenched and he cried out in surprise at the force of the pain. He curled in on himself trying to will it away, but the agony only increased until he was totally spent, his breathes coming in ragged pants and his mouth watering with the impending nausea. He leaned over the bed and vomited into the chamber pot, but then realized, too late, that he had also soiled his sheets. The indignity and humiliation of it all suddenly overwhelmed him and he began to weep. He lay there covered in his own filth, sobbing. It was then that he realized he didn't care anymore whether the elixir was good or bad, as long as it allowed him some form of escape from this hell he was now experiencing.

Sam suddenly entered and seeing his Master lying with his head off the edge of the bed, weeping and the offal that had puddled around his spent frame, rushed to help him. "Me poor Master, Let me help you, me dear," he whispered softly.

"No..go away," Frodo said firmly. Sam looked taken back by this but still reached out to right his master.

"Please Sam...go away. I do not want you to see me this way," Frodo said forcefully. Sam ran from the room, feeling frightened and worried. Never had his master spoken to him like this before and he felt panicked by the complete distress and despair he had heard in Frodo's voice. He ran out into the corridor and right into Aragorn's stomach as he was turning the corner to come into the room. Aragorn, not expecting the assault, let out a large 'oomph'. Rubbing his stomach, he bent down grasping Sam by the shoulders.

"Samwise, what makes you hurry so?" he asked.

"Frodo's dreadful sick, Mr. Strider, and won't let me tend him." Sam began to cry. "He told me to leave...that...that he didn't want me there," he blubbered. Without a word, Aragorn pushed open the door and took in the sight of the helpless hobbit that lay on the bed. He turned to Sam and told him to fetch Saleth for clean linens and hot bath water. Sam scurried out. He then went to Frodo and started to lift him back onto his pillows.

"Go away, NOW. At least allow me the dignity of trying to make myself more presentable," Frodo yelled.

"Frodo, stop it!" Aragorn shook him slightly. "You are going to allow us to care for you without protest or complaint, and you will be SILENT!" Aragorn's voice boomed. Frodo cringed at the rebuff, his face going pale. Aragorn felt sudden shame at raising his voice, especially since Frodo was still recovering from mental anguish and needed, more than anything, peace and quiet. He peered at the white countenance of his friend and his face softened. "Mellon, you are ill. We do not care if you have soiled your bedding or been nauseous because we love you and know that these accidents sometimes happen to the very sick. You are not the first to experience the humiliation of such acts that your body does without your bidding." Frodo looked up at Aragorn with a small flicker of surprise in his eyes. Aragorn smiled. "Yes, even former Ranger's and newly crowned King's have been in situations not unlike your own." Frodo smiled. He couldn't help it, picturing Aragorn sick and weak as a bairn and having to be cleaned up after an 'accident'. The image was so unlike all that Frodo had ever thought of the King that he began to chuckle, which turned quickly into a breathless laugh. "That's enough out of you, Ringbearer," said the blushing Ranger. "Now let's get you cleaned up, what say you?" Frodo, still chuckling, nodded.

Saleth had come in and witnessed the King speaking with the laughing hobbit and smiled in spite of himself. He had never heard Frodo laugh and found that he greatly enjoyed the musical sound that now emanated from his patient. He filled the copper tub with warm, fragrant water, while Aragorn wiped most of the excrement from Frodo's backside and legs. Frodo kept apologizing, his face a deep red by the time the King lowered him gently into the bath. To Frodo it felt like heaven as he allowed the aroma of the lavender oil and the hot water to wash away the filth, the scent renewing his soul. They washed him thoroughly then lifted him out and placed him on the freshly changed linens. Aragorn examined the soiled linens and then the chamber pot.

"Must you?" husked Frodo. "It is so degrading." Aragorn turned and looked at Frodo.

"I must, Frodo. I am checking for blood," he said.

"And?" "There is very little, I am happy to say," replied Aragorn with a small smile. "Frodo, do you feel up to an excursion?" Frodo's eyebrows rose and he smiled wanly.

"Of course. I am tired of being in this bed, no matter how comfortable it is," he whispered.

"Very well. Master's Took and Brandybuck have requested the pleasure of your company for the noon meal," said Aragorn, grinning. "However, there are a few rules you will need to adhere to." Frodo nodded, anxious to escape his small cage and visit with his cousins. "No long conversations. Try to listen and use your face and hands to express yourself. We need to limit talking as much as possible." Frodo nodded. "If it becomes too much for you, the noise and chattering and all the sensations, you must tell me and we will return to this room's peace and quiet." Frodo again, nodded. Aragorn bent to lift Frodo from the bed, but Frodo protested.

"I want to try to walk on my own," he whispered. Aragorn almost laughed, the idea was so ridiculous.

"Frodo, that would be very foolish, even if it were possible. You are far too weak," Aragorn said slowly.

"I wish to try," Frodo said firmly.

"Very well, " Aragorn helped Frodo to sit up. The room spun in a sickening swirl. Frodo took a deep breath and swallowed hard, opening his eyes again slowly. This time the vertigo lessened and he dropped his legs over the edge of the bed. Aragorn knelt facing him, arms extended to either side. Frodo was ashen with the effort of simply sitting up. Aragorn could see a slick sheen of perspiration on his pale face and knew this would be a short battle for the hobbit. As Frodo placed his feet slowly onto the floor and stood, the room again pitched, his knees buckled and he fell towards the bedside table. Reaching out to stop his fall, he knocked the amber bottle to the floor, where it shattered into dozens of small golden splinters. Aragorn caught him as he fell and lay him back onto his pillows. "As I said, a foolish endeavor," he said grimly.

"Aragorn, I am sorry. I broke the bottle," Frodo gasped.

"It is naught to worry over, there are others, but remain still while the pieces are swept up so you won't cut your feet," he smiled. Aragorn called for an orderly who quickly swept up the fragments and left the room. "Shall we try again, or are you fatigued?" asked the King.

"I am fine, perhaps some water," ventured Frodo. Aragorn gently lifted his shoulders and pressed the cup to his lips, which he drank of thirstily.

"More?"

"Yes, please." Aragorn poured a fresh cup from the earthen pitcher and Frodo watched, eyes filled with manic desire, as he brought the cup to his lips. He drank slowly and then sighed.

"Better?" Aragorn grinned.

"Yes, much. Shall we go?" Frodo smiled. Aragorn returned the cup to the table and swept Frodo up, cradling him in the curve of his left arm. After retrieving a blanket, they turned and left the room. Sam hurried towards, them as they entered the corridor.

"Mr. Frodo, Mr. Frodo, are you all right?" he called breathlessly.

"Yes, Sam. I am fine." He grasped Sam's up-stretched hand. "Forgive me for my harsh words earlier, my dear friend. I was...not myself," Frodo whispered.

"There's nothin' to forgive, Mr. Frodo," Sam whispered. "I think I understand how you were feelin', I jes' hope you're feelin' a mite better, is all."

"Yes Sam, I am feeling a little better. Join me for a visit with Merry and Pippin, all right?" he croaked.

"I'd love to, Mr. Frodo," and Sam fell into step with Aragorn as they moved along the hallway.

"No more talking, Frodo," Aragorn said without even looking down at the small person. At last they came to Pippin and Merry's room and as they entered, were greeted with joyous cries of happiness. A look from Aragorn caused the cousins' to quiet considerably. He crossed the room and gently placed Frodo between Pippin and Merry on the large bed. Merry busied himself fluffing pillows and placing them behind his elder cousin in an attempt to make him as comfortable as possible. Once Frodo was situated he became the recipient of numerous hugs and whispered endearments from his kin. Pippin's eyes glowed with unshed tears as he lightly caressed his cousin's pale face.

"Pippin, whatever have you done to yourself?" whispered Frodo groggily. Aragorn frowned slightly noting the sudden drowsiness that seemed to overcome the Ring bearer. Pippin launched into his tale of the troll and being crushed and then re-breaking his leg later. He enthusiastically told about the broken wrist and ribs, flailing his arms, his voice rising in excitement as he told of his and Merry's adventures. Merry nodded, his eyes alight, filling in forgotten details, augmenting the story. At first, Frodo listened in rapt attention his mouth hanging open in stunned shock at all that had befallen his rowdy kin. Gradually, his eyelids began to droop, the blue depths taking on a glazed distant look. Aragorn frowned with concern, and holding up a hand silencing the two errant adventurers.

"Perhaps we should dine, gentlemen," he said softly. They looked from Aragorn to Frodo, and noticing the vacant look on the hobbit's face, agreed wholeheartedly. Valin entered, along with two other orderlies, bearing trays for the feast. The bed was set as a makeshift table and the entrees arranged upon it. Aragorn's eyebrows shot up when he saw the quantity of food laid out. He thought to himself, _I should be used to this but it still amazes me how much a hobbit can devour._ Seasoned meats, glazed fruits, breads sweat with honey, vegetables dripping in butter, stewed cabbages, creamed soups and small meat pies adorned the makeshift table. A fine red wine was the crowning touch. The three hobbits began to quickly help themselves, commenting on each dish as it was sampled. Frodo merely stared at the feast, a sick look on his face, as the aromas assailed him. A small bowl of creamed mushroom soup was brought for Frodo. Sam moved to assist his master, but Aragorn motioned for Sam to keep his place and partake of the feast, while he fed Frodo. He gathered Frodo to him and began to slowly spoon soup into the small mouth. "How does that taste, Frodo?" Aragorn asked, carefully gauging the Ringbearer's response.

"Ssss..good," mumbled Frodo. Aragorn frowned, but continued to feed the hobbit until the soup simply dribbled out of the hobbit's mouth as he stopped swallowing. Again Aragorn looked with concern at his small friend.

"Perhaps, we should depart. Frodo appears fatigued," said Aragorn. The other three hobbits looked up from the meal, amongst murmurs of disappointment. Each hugged Frodo to them whispering soothing endearments, Frodo smiled wanly at each in turn.

"I love you all so much," he slurred.

"Mr. Strider, perhaps I should come with you and help get me Master settled," Sam said as he made to climb from the large bed.

"No Sam, stay with Master's Took and Brandybuck for now. You can come visit Frodo after your meal," said Aragorn. Sam looked torn between his duty to his Master and remaining with the other hobbits. "Truly Sam. I think I feel like a bit of a nap now anyway," rasped Frodo. This seemed to convince the loyal gardener and he smiled at his Master.

"Very well, Mr. Frodo. But I'll not be far, if’en you need me." Aragorn rose and carried Frodo from the room, walking slowly down the hallway until they were once again in the Ringbearer's chambers. He settled Frodo gently into the little nest, giving a troubled look at the small person. Saleth entered with the teas and medicines and moved to the bedside table.

"How fairs he, my Lord?"

"I am uncertain. He seems inordinately fatigued and lethargic," he said with concern.

"He has had a very active day, my Lord. The weaning alone is very exhausting. The visit to his cousins' might have been too much for him, causing this lethargy," commented Saleth.

"Perhaps, but somehow I feel that there is more to this than that," Aragorn said skeptically. He smoothed Frodo's curls back from the pale forehead. "He is past due for his medicines. We should try to keep him on schedule to avoid any unpleasant withdrawal symptoms," Saleth commented. "That is another thing that mystifies me. Frodo has not become agitated and demanding as is usual prior to his next dosing. Does that not seem odd, Saleth?" questioned the King.

The healer's brows knit together. "It is unusual, but perhaps simple exhaustion has quelled those desires for the moment," Saleth said slowly, but he too began to look pensive.

"Let us dose him and then keep a close eye on him, does that sound satisfactory?" asked Aragorn.

"Yes, my Liege." Saleth settled himself next to Frodo, Aragorn lifted the boneless form into a semi-upright position.

Frodo's eyes never opened, in fact no reaction was forthcoming. Aragorn felt for a pulse and found a slow, steady beat under his fingertips. Frodo's breaths came in shallow but steady procession. He nodded to Saleth. "He seems stable, although I would feel better if his life signs were a bit stronger," murmured the King.

"Shall I proceed, my Lord?"

"Yes, we shall monitor him closely though. The medicine will probably lose its hold on him within the hour, then we shall see what follows," said Aragorn, worriedly. Saleth slowly spooned the tea made of hypericum, comfrey and a small dose of the poppy extract, into the side of Frodo's mouth. Reflexively, it was swallowed until all of it was gone. Aragorn then lay Frodo back onto the pillows and covered him with the quilts. "I believe I shall stay here and keep watch over him," said Aragorn.

"This truly bothers you, does it not my Lord?"

"Yes, it seems somehow unnatural, this state his is in. I am concerned," whispered the King.

"Perhaps you should sleep next to him. The bed is more than large enough to accommodate both of you," suggested Saleth. Aragorn looked at Saleth with surprise. Saleth smiled. "It has come to my attention that you, my King, have rested far too little since this situation began. And sitting in a chair perched precariously against the wall is not rest, no matter what you would say," he added when Aragorn made to object. "It will do you both good to nap a bit. This way you can be comfortable and close at hand to monitor Frodo's life signs," he finished.

Aragorn smiled, "Very well, Master Healer. I see you have plotted this out well." Saleth's eyes opened wide at the idea of plotting against the King. Aragorn held up his hand, "I realize you have my best interests at heart, my friend, and consider your concern for my well-being an act of friendship. I will rest next to Frodo. After all, he will probably awaken within the hour anyway, needing more medicine," said Aragorn.

"Undoubtedly, my Lord." Aragorn removed his boots and made himself comfortable next to Frodo, as Saleth exited the room. He placed his hand on the small wrist to better monitor Frodo's pulse and then, slowly, his eyes slipped shut. Exhaustion taking him totally. The Ringbearer slept deeply, dreamlessly, cocooned within the embrace of the seductive drug, that promised endless peace and tranquility, a small satisfied smile upon his lips.

TBC


	22. Chapter 22

Smoke and Mirrors

Chapter 22

When Aragorn awoke, the room was in total darkness. He lay there trying to figure out what had woke him and trying to calculate how much time had elapsed while he had slept. He did not move, but allowed his eyes to turn towards the doorway. A lone candle being carried by one of the healer apprentices, approached the bed. The King was all but invisible to the healer. Frodo was propped up on so many pillows that they masked the King’s presence in the resulting deep shadow. The woman was carrying a fresh flagon of water and a cup. She placed these articles on the sideboard, making to replace the old pitcher and cup with the new.

"Please...don’t," came a small voice.

"Master Baggins, I am sorry if I woke you. I wanted to refresh your water for you," said the healer gently. Aragorn watched, hidden, wanting to see what transpired.

"No...I prefer the old pitcher and water," Frodo said slowly.

"But, Master Periannth, it will be stale from sitting. This fresh water is cool and will be more refreshing," the healer said, in obvious confusion. Perhaps, she thought, these Shire folk had different tastes for their refreshment that she did not understand. But she was confused as to why anyone would prefer older, flatter water to cool, and fresh.

"No...I prefer the taste. Please leave it," the Ringbearer insisted.

"As you wish, Master," the healer replied now looking uncertain about such a strange request.

"Will you help me? I would like a drink, please," Frodo asked. Aragorn detected a note of anxiety and even need, in the quavering voice. He frowned to himself, beginning to feel a niggling of dread regarding the motives of the Ringbearer.

"Of course, young Master," came the healers reply. She poured a cup of the stale water and moved to lift Frodo's head, pressing the cup to his lips. Aragorn's hand shot out, grasping the healer's wrist in mid motion. Frodo cried out in surprise as did the healer. Aragorn leaned over Frodo, making himself visible to both. "My Liege, you startled me," gasped the healer. Frodo's eyes were impossibly wide with fear.

"My pardon, dear Lady," said Aragorn with a slight bow of his head.

"Aragorn, what are you doing here? And why did you not reveal your presence," asked Frodo with a look of desperation towards the cup.

"I was resting with you to better monitor your life signs. I must have been more fatigued than I thought," Aragorn said slowly. He still grasped the woman's wrist in his, he released her and she stood up.

"My Liege, I was but giving the young Master a drink," she explained, still looking flustered and uncertain.

"You are a dedicated healer, my good woman. Do not be alarmed, *you* have done nothing wrong," said the King softly. Frodo noticed the inflection on the word. "Please leave the cup on the sideboard beside the old pitcher, and light a few more tapers to dispel this darkness." The healer did as requested, still visibly shaken by the sudden appearance of the King. "You may leave us," said Aragorn. "I will see to 'Master Baggins' now." Frodo noticed how Aragorn's eyes shifted slowly from the healer to lock with his, where they still remained.

"Yes, my Liege," she quickly bowed and left the room, shutting the door behind her.

"Aragorn, I truly am quite thirsty. May I have my water now?" Frodo's voice quavered.

"Of course, Frodo." Aragorn rose and walked to the fresh pitcher and cup and began to pour.

"No, I prefer the other, please." Frodo whispered nervously. Aragorn slowly turned with the new cup in his hand and held Frodo's gaze grimly.

"And why is that, Frodo? This water should do you just as well. Why are you so adamant about it being the other, older water?" He never took his eyes from Frodo's, now convinced that what he suspected was true. He groaned inwardly and felt a small shiver run up his spine.

"I am not adamant. I simply prefer it," snapped Frodo. He reached out for the cup himself with a shaking hand.

"I see, no need to become angry, my friend. Here, let me assist you." Frodo sighed and lay back on his pillows, eyes closing in relief. Aragorn took the cup and brought it to his own lips. Frodo's eyes widened when he saw Aragorn's intentions, he cried out in frustration and fear.

"NO...IT IS MINE. GIVE IT TO ME!" Aragorn stopped. He dipped his index finger into the water and brought his finger to his mouth. The unmistakable bitter taste of poppy extract assaulted his taste buds. He spat it on the floor and placed the cup back on the sideboard. At that moment Saleth entered. Frodo's eyes were wide in panic and need as he watched the two stand beside his bed, looking down at him, Aragorn's eyes, still locked with Frodo's. Aragorn spoke softly.

"Saleth, we have a crucial decision to make regarding Frodo's care," he said slowly. Frodo shivered at the totally clinical way that Aragorn spoke of him as if he weren't in the room. An undercurrent of anger ran through the King's voice.

"Yes, my Lord. I have come in to check on him every hour, some six times..."

"Six..." Aragorn said, aghast.

"Yes, my Lord. You were exhausted so I tried not to wake you. At first I believed the same of the Ringbearer, but after the second hour, began to suspect other reasons as to why he would be so nonreactive. I was unable to rouse him at each hour that I came in," said Saleth slowly. A look of total fury came over Aragorn's features. He turned to Frodo and leaned over him, his face mere inches from Frodo's. He roughly grasped Frodo by the shoulders.

"Do you want to die?" he said menacingly. Frodo's eyes grew even wider, he paled, his mouth trying to work a response that would not come."DO--YOU--WANT--TO--DIE!!! I asked you," shouted Aragorn into his face, shaking him as he said each word.

"Aragorn...I.." began Frodo, terrified at this outburst from someone he knew and loved. He tried to creep backwards, towards the headboard and the other corner of the bed. Never had he felt truly frightened of Aragorn excepting the first time they had met in Bree. Now he was frozen in terror at the sheer anger that Aragorn's eyes held as they bored into his own. "We gave you the poppy extract for pain. Since you were in such agony, we gave you a fairly large dose every hour. Our fault. We should have known what could happen. Now, 'Master Baggins,' we will be doing this the hard way. You have shown a quality unknown to my friend Frodo Baggins, of the Shire---deceit. We shall wean you, but not slowly, as planned. That seems only to prolong the cravings and agony of withdrawal, but abruptly so that you can finally be free from the clutches of this drug. You will be free to live a life of hope and beauty, as was meant for you," said Aragorn with sad determination. Frodo's eyes suddenly lit with a burning fire, causing Aragorn to draw back slightly. This fire was borne of need, bitterness and desperation.

"Free to live a life of HOPE!," he fairly spat the words. He grabbed Aragorn's tunic with both hands, unmindful of the wrenching pain in his right hand. "Beauty? Peace? These words are foreign to me now. You know nothing, Aragorn son of Arathorn, of pain and torment. I have seen it first hand," he laughed bitterly, his eyes glinting with madness. "Know you not of losing your soul to an inanimate object. Of craving, desperately for that object's return just so you can *feel* something, anything once again? How when the Ring was destroyed I felt it tear a gaping hole into my very being? Of knowing your life will NEVER be the same because of taking on a burden of your own free choice? I have been stabbed, bitten, and starved. Ravaged by Orcs, left for dead and endured the darkness both physical and mental. And while all of you will marry, have your families and lives unfold before you, I will not. I shall remain empty, a shell of my former self, dependent forever on the care of my friends, neither seeking or feeling happiness again in this life. You ask me if I wish to die? I say to you, I am already dead, you simply have not buried me yet. The drug, that blessed, wonderful drug is all I have to gather comfort and peace to me. And you, *my friend*, wish to deprive me of it. My only recourse, the only bliss I can still feel, and you would take it from me," Frodo screamed into Aragorn's face. "Why not simply let me live that small lie. Let me have the small comfort of the drug, let me yet feel peace and happiness even if it is artificial and transitory? I think I ask little of you. I do not care if it is good or bad. I only know it makes me *feel*. Better...yes, a giddy warmth I have not felt since this all began. An ecstasy I shall not find elsewhere. Why is it asking so much to allow 'Your Savior of Middle Earth' some modicum of comfort in what remains of his short life?" Frodo gasped this last in a pleading voice. He was spent. He dropped his hands to the covers and fell back onto the pillows, his face ashen and covered in sweat, his eyes wet with tears. Aragorn was frozen in place for a few moments from the outburst. He thought on all that Frodo had said, a deep feeling of empathy and pity overwhelmed him.

"I am sorry, Frodo, I can not. It is a lie, a lie that will eventually take all that you once were and replace it with only the drug, it will twine about your mind and being until there is naught left," he said softly, tears filled his eyes and rolled down his face.

"My lie, my life, not yours," whispered Frodo. "Leave me, you are no friend of mine if you would allow me to suffer when there is a form of relief available to me of my choosing," he said bitterly and rolled to his side. Saleth and Aragorn stood stunned at what their friend had been forced to become.

"We shall begin immediately," said Aragorn, raw emotion warring within him and coming through in a voice filled with sadness and defeat. "I want Valerian root teas given hourly with hypericum for the depression. Also since Frodo can obviously tolerate speech, rich soups and custards, applesauce and steamed fruits. We need him to regain his strength for what is to come," he glanced at Frodo's back. "He is not to be left unattended, but I forbid Sam or the others, to see him until the worst of the symptoms abates, perhaps in three days time. Saleth nodded in agreement and left to prepare all that would be needed. Aragorn rose, "I am sorry, Frodo. I do love and care for you, that is why we must do this, so that at least you will have a *choice* of which way to live your life. I know you do not believe me, but it is true none the less," he left the room.

Frodo listened to all that was said and tears of frustration, anger, fear and most of all, loss, flowed from his blue eyes. He felt very alone and forsaken. Why could they not see? None of it seemed to matter anymore and he prayed Eru would not let him survive the ordeal to come. Aragorn met Sam in the corridor as he was heading into Frodo's room.

"No Sam," said Aragorn clasping the gardener's shoulder.

"I heard Mr. Frodo scream and an awful ruckus from his room," said Sam worriedly.

"Yes Sam. We were....talking. You need to know something and it will be difficult for you to hear. Let us sit over there," he pointed to a small padded bench, "and discuss the matter," said Aragorn. Sam looked worriedly up at Aragorn's face, then at the closed door. He walked with the King, over to the bench. "Frodo has been stealing the opiate elixir we were trying to wean him from." Sam's eyes grew wide at hearing this.

"That's not like Mr. Frodo. He's one of the most honest of hobbits, I cannot believe he would do such a thing," said Sam.

"Nevertheless, Sam, it is true. Addiction does strange things to those it enslaves. It makes them do things they would not normally do, say things they would never say. They will do anything to attain their goal of getting the drug they are addicted to. We are experiencing this with Frodo. He is bitter, depressed and desperate with need for the drug. He will do anything, say anything to get some, but we must not allow that, no matter what he says or however much pain he feels," said Aragorn sadly.

"Pain? You mean to let him suffer?" said Sam, indignantly.

"I am sorry, Sam we will try to keep him as comfortable as possible, but for the next few days he will suffer from withdrawal from the drug. It is an actual physical pain his body will be feeling, and will be most unpleasant for him, I fear. But it must be done," Aragorn looked sadly at Sam's grieving face.

"Then I shall stay with him. He'll need his Sam, he will," he said.

"No Sam, I cannot allow it," said Aragorn softly.

Sam's eyes flashed in anger. "What? But he needs me, he can't do this alone. I can't simply sit and do nothin' for 'em," yelled Sam.

"Sam, you are his loyal servant and dear friend. You would refuse him nothing, am I correct?" asked Aragorn.

"Of course, I would do whatever needs to be doin' to make him comfortable. It's me job, as ya know, Mr. Strider," said Sam.

"That is my point. Frodo will do *anything* to get what he needs. And you will do *anything* to make him happy and comfortable. That is why I forbid you to see him."

Sam's eyes widened in surprised anger. "Mr. Strider, I'd never give 'em any of it, I promise," said Sam.

Aragorn smiled ruefully, "I believe you never intentionally would break your promise, Samwise. But I also know that Frodo is going to be very manipulative. He will say things to hurt you, or shame you into helping him. I will allow you to see him, with either myself or Saleth along side, perhaps tomorrow. You may have better luck getting him to eat or drink his teas, but I will not allow you in the room unescorted for today. He will likely be violent and abusive tonight and you must trust me to know what is best, both for you and Frodo," he said softly. Sam only sat there. Slowly he nodded his head. "I am sorry, Sam," said Aragorn. He rose and left Sam on the bench, returning to Frodo's room. Saleth was with Frodo trying to get him to eat. Frodo was refusing, physically batting at Saleth, soup was everywhere. Aragorn shut the door quietly behind him and locked it. Frodo watched him, eyes wide and frightened. As Aragorn approached Frodo tried to move away, into the corner. "He is already beginning to show signs of paranoia. See how he trembles? I fear we will be in for a very long night. We may have to restrain him."

"Later, first let's get him to eat, then a hobbit sized dose of Valerian root tea, perhaps a soothing bath and then we will discuss what is to come, my friend. We will do whatever we must to make this proceed smoothly, for Frodo's sake," he said softly. He looked at Frodo with kind, understanding eyes, crawled upon the bed and pulled the small body to his chest. Frodo cried out a long wail

"Sam....Sam help me..." and twisted against him. But Aragorn held him firm, whispering soothing words in the hobbit’s ear. He grasped his jaw gently and opened the small mouth, then pinched the nose shut. The soup was spooned into the Ringbearer, allowing him a breath after each swallow, until gone. The tea was then brought, Frodo whimpered and cried, "No...I'll be good, please don't hurt me...Sam....where are you, Sam..." The cries broke Aragorn's heart to hear how desperate and alone his friend sounded. The tea was fed to him, amongst his wails and gasps for air, until at last he began to calm, his body still trembling. Outside in the corridor, a small hobbit pressed his wet cheek and right hand to the door, listening to the plaintive cries for help. He sobbed, knowing there was nothing he could do for the one he had sworn his life too.

TBC


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Day Two of Frodo's Weaning

Aragorn could not remember having ever had a longer more tortuous night. Even the seemingly endless fighting at Helm's Deep could not compare to seeing his frail, sick friend turn from sedated, sick hobbit to the trembling, hysterical and pain wracked form he now saw before his eyes. He silently witnessed as Frodo went from near catatonia, where he lay for hours staring vacantly off into some other world, silent tears falling from unseeing eyes-- to begging, pleading and screaming as his body thrashed in agony, to spitting vitriolic obscenities and railing verbally and physically against Aragorn and all of humanity. Aragorn, frustrated and feeling impotent at his lack of ability to help or give succor to his friend, looked on helplessly as Frodo experienced the torment and torture of his withdrawal. Another side effect, and possibly the most heartbreaking for Aragorn to watch, was when Frodo could not discern reality from the chaos that held his mind. At those times, he became a frightened waif, cringing back from all who neared him, seeing things only he could see. Aragorn could not fathom what Frodo's mind had created to terrify him so, his mind and body desperate to overcome the loss of the drug, and trying desperately to compensate for the sudden imbalance that had been brought upon it. Saleth and he had tried everything they could think of to calm and comfort the Ringbearer. Some things, like the hot baths and Valerian root, had worked for a time, but increasingly higher doses of the tea were needed at increasingly shorter intervals, to maintain even the slightest semblance of calm in their patient now. The Valerian root was not as addictive, for which Aragorn was grateful, but he worried because of Frodo's slight frame and weight that the heavy doses might catch up with him and slip the hobbit into too deep a sleep. Currently, that was not a problem, Aragorn mused. He looked over to the bed at the feverish, shaking form of his friend. Frodo's main problem now was dehydration. At first, they had force fed him the soups and tea every hour, but after every feeding Frodo had vomited violently. So they had gone back to the light broth and the sweetened cream, heavy with Valerian root and comfrey. This he drank greedily, but none of it had remained down for long. Frodo was now vomiting almost constantly, long past expelling any form of food, until now only bile came forth. Each time Frodo hovered retching over the basin, his movements had become weaker and weaker and each time Aragorn had emptied it he had noticed increasingly larger amounts of blood in the emesis. The chamber pot had had its share of attention as well, as Frodo's body struggled to purge all fluids out of his fragile frame--a frame that seemed to grow more wasted as each hour passed. They feared the hobbit could not survive much more of the continuous abuse. Aragorn placed a damp cloth on Frodo's head and after gently wiping the small face clean, offered a sip of water to rinse his mouth with. Saleth was preparing another bath with steaming hot water and fragrantly scented oils to comfort the shuddering, anxious form. Frodo tossed back and forth upon his pillow, fighting some unseen attacker. He slowly opened his glazed eyes and stared up at Aragorn with a look that could only be described as terrified. His eyes became impossibly wide and he tried feebly, to crab crawl backwards into the far corner of his bed. ' _What are you seeing that frightens you so, my dear friend?',_ thought Aragorn.

Frodo's POV

As Frodo had opened his eyes he had seen the dark shapes again, backlit by a dim light, as they moved about his bed. They spoke to him, but he did not understand their words, the sounds reminding him of people talking while he used to swim underwater. The room was full of these phantasms, all reaching towards him or forcing him to drink strange concoctions. He yearned for Sam or Bilbo to protect and save him, but they were gone and he was all alone. Alone. He wept as he tried to retreat from the nearest figure. He managed to get to the furthest corner of the large bed, adrenaline coursing through him, and slowly backed off the bed until his feet touched the floor. A violent wave of vertigo assailed him and he pitched towards the wall, bumping it hard. He regained his balance and slowly and continued to inch backwards. The figure was joined by a second and now both were garbling their strange tongue and approaching him with their long arms outstretched. Huge claws were making to grasp at him. He shrieked a long wailing cry and, trembling, backed away slowly.

"Sam!… Sam! Help me!", he screamed, but no one came to his aid. He continued creeping away, stumbling and swaying, but determined to escape the wraiths before him. He screamed again, calling out for his absent friend until finally, his voice failed him completely and he could only sob in terror at what surely, was his approaching doom. "Please...I don't have it. Don't touch me....please, stay away," he panted. His guts were on fire and he felt his bowels let go, but was too petrified to care, his only goal to elude his pursuers. The pain was all encompassing, his muscles cramped and spasomed, his stomach and chest a throbbing inferno and his hand seemed to pulse with a dull pain that matched his rapid heartbeat and ragged breaths. He bumped up against a cupboard of sorts and felt hastily around it until he found the end and eased himself easily behind it and up against the cool wall. He moved all the way down to the other end until he was well out of reach of his pursuers. His stomach cramped violently and he retched as he slumped against the wall and slid to the floor. He pulled his knees up to his chin and sobbed hysterically. His body heaved in a sudden, shuddering, convulsion causing Frodo to arch his back and hit his head repeatedly against the cool stone, until his eyes rolled up into his head and blessed blackness claimed him.

Aragorn's POV

As Frodo moved to the corner of the bed, Aragorn spoke soothingly to him and raised his hands to show he was no threat to the Ringbearer. But Frodo continued backing away, slowly lowering his legs over the side of the bed. Aragorn called to Saleth, "Saleth, Frodo is hallucinating. I need you to help me." Saleth immediately moved with Aragorn to try and intercept the frightened hobbit. Aragorn studied Frodo as he gamely moved towards the cupboards on the far wall. His legs wobbled, looking incapable of holding even Frodo's slight weight for any length of time. He staggered and swayed with weakness, and his face wore a look of such pure terror that Aragorn could only guess at what the hobbit thought he was seeing before him. It was obvious that adrenaline was all that kept the Ringbearer focused on his attempt at escape. Aragorn grimaced as he noted how thin and ragged his friend looked, his nightshirt covered in vomit and clinging to his small frame in a drench of sweat. His hair was plastered to his head, and droplets of perspiration hung from the tangles. His face, dewy with sweat, was pale and dark black circles lay under his eyes. He was panting hoarsely and Aragorn could see the pulse point on his neck beating rapidly in fear and panic. Suddenly Frodo’s bowels released again, but Frodo seemed not to notice as he continued to inch backwards. He cried out for Sam to help him, Aragorn felt he could weep at the panic evident on his pale features. Finally, Frodo’s voice gave out and he sobbed hysterically as he reached the wall whispering "Please, I don't have It. Don't touch me...please, stay away..." He slipped behind the narrow gap behind the cabinet and moved all the way to the end, into the corner and well out of reach of Aragorn's long arms. Then he vomited violently and his body, finally totally spent from these last efforts, convulsed and seized until he became unconscious.

"We must move the cabinet, quickly!" shouted Aragorn. Saleth called two orderlies to assist them and the cabinet was moved out enough to allow Aragorn access to the slumped form. "Blessed Eru..." whispered Aragorn as he checked Frodo's pulse and breathing. As he touched the hobbit's forehead, he drew back, startled at the heat that radiated off the small person. "Quickly, the bath. Then prepare boluses heavy with Valerian root and comfrey. Prepare a second with hypericum and athelas." The healers left hastily to do the King's bidding. The linens were changed, sideboards were re-attached to the bed and the boluses lay on a tray ready to be inserted. Aragorn swept Frodo up, quickly removing the filthy nightshirt, and slowly lowered him into the bath. Saleth and he worked together to thoroughly wash their friend, finally lifting and wrapping him in a soft blanket. As they placed him on the clean sheets, thicker toweling was placed under his bottom and strips of gauze were brought to bind him so that he would remain in the bed. Aragorn carefully unwrapped the hand, satisfied it had received no additional injury, applied a balm and rewrapped it in an extra layer of soft bandages in case their charge became violent. He examined the ribs and found that with all the movement, a slight misalignment had occurred. Only a yellowing bruise now remained as a reminder of Aragorn's resuscitation of a few days prior. He soaked a bandage in warm athelas water and lay it across the Ringbearer's chest. After a time he removed it and bound the small ribs back into place. Next, he looked closely at Frodo's head where he had struck it against the wall. Aside from a few lumps, he decided no real damage had been done. He palpated the stomach and abdomen and received whimpers and a groan in return. "I am very concerned that he has restarted the bleeding in his stomach. We should try to give him some mint tea to settle the cramping," Aragorn murmured. Saleth left and returned shortly with the requested tea.

"Here, my Lord. Let us first place the first bolus, dress him and then perhaps, the tea?" he inquired. Aragorn nodded, and turned Frodo onto his side. He lifted Frodo's knees to his chest and slowly inserted the bolus. A small gasp issued from the hobbit's mouth as he slowly began to regain consciousness. He had felt the intrusion of the bolus and now he trembled in fear, eyes widening slowly, to realize he was at the mercy of the strange captors. He began to struggle, whimpering as he tried to push away. The bolus was pushed out as he worked against the healers. He inched once more, towards the headboard, but his time Aragorn caught his wrists in his and held him still. Frodo became hysterical, howling in fear and loathing, as his imagination created before him a monster of such hideous visage, so horrible he thought his heart would stop. He screamed again, and again as Aragorn spoke softly to him, but he knew that Frodo was far past reason.

"Forgive me, mellon," he whispered as he struck Frodo hard across the face. The Ringbearer collapsed and Aragorn pulled him to his chest, tears flowing from his eyes. "Forgive me, but we must treat you or you will die. I can not allow that to happen to one I have grown to love almost as a brother," he murmured softly, stroking the dark curls. He turned to Saleth. The healer looked on in sympathy for the King.

"It was necessary, my Liege," he said, trying to comfort Aragorn.

"Perhaps, dear friend, but it gives me no comfort knowing I must subdue a dear friend physically in order to stop the madness, even if only for a short time. I am a monster. I feel not unlike a bully beating upon a frail and delicate creature," he lamented. Gently he lay the unconscious hobbit on his side and again pulled up the thin legs. Another bolus was brought to replace the first, and placed inside the small bottom. He then carefully covered his friend. Frodo's legs and arms were bound, loosely, to the bed frame to prevent him from moving and the cooled mint tea was once again, brought forward. He leaned Frodo against his chest and slowly trickled the tea into the side of Frodo's mouth. Reflexively, it was swallowed. Aragorn then placed a cool cloth on his friend's face where he had struck him, as silent tears filled his eyes. He curled up next to Frodo on the large bed, pulling him to him. He then slept, Frodo cradled protectively against him.

TBC


	24. Chapter 24

Smoke and Mirrors

Chapter 24

Day 3

Frodo awoke slowly, feeling comfortably warm and secure, nestled against another’s chest. He took in the scent of the other person, a musky aroma of pine and pipeweed. He was content to lie so, unwilling to wake the other who enveloped him. His body ached as if the muscles had been strained beyond their limits, and his face pulsed with a dull throb. This alone sought to intrude on the illusion of perfect warmth and contentedness. He moved still closer, enjoying the small luxury and smells mixed with the slow, steady heartbeat of his unknown benefactor. Aragorn, sensing Frodo's awakening, pulled his head back and looked down at the small form curled into him.

"Are you well, my friend?" he whispered. Frodo's answer was a frustrated sigh at the possibility of being extricated from this delightful source of succor. Aragorn smiled slightly and pulled the hobbit in closer to him, which yielded another sigh, this of contentment, from his friend. The door cracked open and Saleth entered the chamber bearing water and teas.

"How is he, my Lord?" he asked quietly. Aragorn smiled,

"He is quite comfortable, it would seem, and I am quite trapped as he does not wish to release his embrace," he chuckled.

Saleth smiled. "The human touch, especially from one he considers a dear friend, can sometimes be more curative than any elixir or tonic," he said.

"So true, and yet, I must rise even though I am want to disturb him," said the King.

"Perhaps later we could employ Sam to take your position. He is quite beside himself with worry. I do not believe he has eaten or slept in the past two days. He remains curled next to the door, refusing to abandon his post or his Master. I believe we have very nearly broken his heart," Saleth said this with a smile, but Aragorn detected a distinct note of concern in the healer's voice, for the small gardener.

"An excellent idea," said Aragorn. "Frodo still has much to endure, but I do believe he is well enough for his friends to visit and comfort him. I have been meaning to ask you about Merry. Sam had said something in passing earlier about Merry not using his right hand, as he should."

"Sadly, it is true. He keeps it hidden and proclaims he is fine whenever we ask about it. He seems to be under the impression that our attentions should be divided between Master's Took and Baggins, and that he does not need our ministrations," said Saleth grimly.

"Stubborn, willful and single-minded to the welfare of his cousins," muttered Aragorn. Aragorn's eyes then acquired a strange gleam and he smiled slowly. "I know just the cure. It will benefit Pippin and Frodo, but most of all, Merry," he grinned. Saleth looked confused. "First, let us take care of this small one, then I will tell you of my plan," he said mysteriously. He gently disentangled himself from Frodo's embrace, and was met with a whimper of discontent. He soothed the hobbit with soft words and began to examine him. Frodo had a large, swollen, bruise on his cheek, which caused Aragorn to grimace. He felt gently around the bruise to ascertain that he had not, inadvertently, broken the fragile cheek bone. Satisfied that the bone was undamaged, he turned to Saleth. "His fever is much higher today and his skin is clammy. We will need some water to bath him and try to bring it down." Saleth nodded, and turning to his assistant, motioned for him to begin filling the copper tub. After the assistant left, Saleth turned back to the King. "He has bruises and abrasions everywhere from his attempt to escape us yesterday. He lightly massaged Frodo's abdomen which elicited a sharp intake of breath from the Ringbearer. Aragorn looked up into Frodo's open eyes.

"Frodo, do you know who I am?" he asked. Frodo's eyebrows quirked as if confused at the question but answered,

"You are Aragorn, son of Arathorn, whom I owe my allegiance," he rasped. Aragorn smiled widely.

"No, my friend. To you, I owe mine. How are you feeling this morn?" he asked.

"Thirsty..." Aragorn poured a cup of water, and lifting the narrow shoulders, brought the cup to Frodo's parched lips. Frodo drank greedily. Aragorn pulled the cup away and a small whimper escaped Frodo's mouth.

"Slow sips, my friend, or it will not stay down. Swirl it around your mouth, then swallow slowly," Aragorn chided. Frodo nodded, anxiously and again the cup was brought. Slowly, he drank all of it.

"More?"

"Not right now, Frodo, Let us see how this settles and then you may have more, all right?" Frodo nodded wearily. "Where do you hurt, Frodo?" asked Aragorn.

"Everywhere...my stomach is giving me sharp pains, like cramps. My legs keep cramping, but it is my stomach that hurts the worst. My face hurts..." he said

"Yes...I am sorry, my friend, about your face. But it was necessary to render you unconscious." Frodo's eyes widened in disbelief.

"You struck me?" he said, aghast.

"I did, I am sorry," as Aragorn said this, his eyes became moist. Frodo looked at Aragorn closely.

"I am sorry if I have been unruly, Strider." Aragorn laughed,

"That is an understatement, my dear friend." Frodo groaned and pulled his legs up to his chest, rolling to his side. He was suddenly seized with intense cramping in his abdomen, and without warning, heaved the water across the bed where Aragorn had lain only moments ago.

"Chamber pot..." he croaked. Aragorn, still stunned by the quantity and how fast the nausea had presented itself, quickly grabbed the pot and, lifting Frodo gently, placed him on it. Frodo looked humiliated as the sound of watery diarrhea poured from his other end. Afterwards, feeling faint, he leaned forward precariously against Aragorn's chest. Aragorn washed the sweat from the pale face, and then cleaned Frodo’s backside. Gently he lifted his friend, removing the saturated nightshirt and placing him gently, into the awaiting bath. He gazed into the half opened eyes of his comrade as he washed his hair and cleansed his body of all evidence of sickness. "Aragorn," Frodo whispered, "I am dying, why do you not simply allow me to pass?" he gasped. Aragorn's eyes filled with tears.

"You are *not* dying, I will not allow it. It is the withdrawal that makes you feel as you are," he replied huskily.

"How many more days must I endure this agony?" Frodo rasped.

"Not many, you are past the worse of it, I believe. You must be strong, Frodo. You have many who love you, you have much yet to do in this world. You must be brave," Aragorn whispered.

Frodo closed his eyes and turned away. "I have been strong and brave. Now I am spent," he said quietly. Aragorn felt like weeping at the sheer finality and despair he heard in Frodo's voice. Frodo turned back and looked at Aragorn. "Could you not give me but a small dose of the extract to ease my pain?" he begged, his eyes pleading with Aragorn's. "Please, Aragorn. Just a small amount to end my suffering?" he whimpered, tears running down his face.

"No dear one, that would only prolong the agony for you," whispered Aragorn. "I am sorry." As Frodo sobbed, Aragorn gently washed the tears from his thin face. Finally, he lifted Frodo from the bath and held him close as he would a small child, trying to console him with his embrace. He lay him down into the clean sheets and placed pillows about the increasingly thinning frame. Frodo's eyes were closed as if in sleep, but Aragorn knew it was not so. "Frodo, drink this tea. It is peppermint and will help to settle your stomach." Frodo obediently drank the tea. It tasted wonderful to his parched mouth. Next the honeyed milk mixture, heavy with Valerian root and comfrey, was brought. He drank this eagerly. His body desperately craving the nourishment. At last he was lain on his side and a bolus of hypericum mixed with athelas and more Valerian root, was placed inside his small bottom. Through it all, he remained obedient and unmoving as a rag doll. The lack of response alarmed Aragorn, who now worried whether Frodo had the strength of will to continue this fight, or if he had decided to simply give up, wishing for death. He covered Frodo with a heavy quilt and nodding to Saleth, left the room in search of Merry. Merry had within him the ability to bring calm to Frodo and himself, he just did not realize it yet. He found Merry chatting with Pippin over breakfast, in the hobbits quarters.

"Strider, join us for tea. You look as if you could use some, I dare say," piped Pippin. Pippin's leg was still propped up, the bandages were being changed by Valin, as Aragorn approached the bed.

"Ooooh, it itches so," complained Pippin. Aragorn watched as Valin washed the leg, removing the dead skin, bringing a look of utter bliss to Pippin's face.

"Soon those muscles will be in use again," commented Aragorn. "But they will be weak from disuse and need to be massaged daily to regain some of their former strength," Aragorn said, shifting his gaze slightly to Merry. "Merry, would you bring me the lavender oil there on the table please?" he asked. The oil was easily within his reach but he wanted Merry to bring it to him. Valin smiled knowingly, and moved away from the leg after drying it. Aragorn gave Valin a small nod. Merry, looked confused at the request, but rose nonetheless and using his left hand, began to reach for the bottle. "No, Merry, use your right hand," said Aragorn, evenly. Merry looked quickly over his shoulder in alarm at Aragorn. Aragorn's gaze was unreadable. Merry, slowly began to reach for the bottle with his right hand, his arm trembled violently and sweat broke out on his face as he lifted the arm up to the table. When he tried to open the clenched fingers and grasp the bottle, the bottle fell sideways onto the table. Aragorn recovered the bottle with a grab, then caught Merry's hand in his. "You will exercise this arm and hand Meriadoc, or it will shrivel up and become totally useless." He poured some of the oil into his large hands and pressing his thumbs into the small palm, began to massage it, causing Merry to utter a small gasp. Merry was sweating profusely now, obviously in great pain. As Aragorn rubbed the hand he watched Merry's face. "I have a task that only you can accomplish, my friend," he whispered. Merry's face was quite pale now as the muscles in the injured limb, jumped under the King's ministrations. "You will massage Pippin's leg, gently, twice a day. Once in the morning, once at night. Then you will come to Frodo's room. He is in extreme pain from the cramping in his legs, an unfortunate side effect of the withdrawal." Upon hearing this Merry looked up at Aragorn with alarm.

"Will he be all right?" he asked worriedly.

"He will, if you will help him," said Aragorn.

"I know nothing of massage, surely there are others better suited to ease his aches?" asked Merry.

"There are, no doubt. But he needs the touch of someone he loves. He needs a person he can speak with of his worries and woes. That person should be someone who can relate to him, show him empathy and how much he is loved in return. Wouldn't you agree?" Aragorn asked quietly.

"I would do anything for Frodo ...or Pip," Merry replied.

"I know, and I am counting on you to try and raise the spirits of your cousin. He has endured much and has sunk into despair. I feel you can help bring him out of this and help him see his worth once more. For now, I want you to gently work Pippin's leg muscles so that he may walk without crutches once the bandages are removed," said Aragorn. Merry again looked alarmed.

"You mean Pip will need crutches after he has healed?" he cried.

"He wont need them as long or perhaps at all, if you will help him now, Merry," smiled Aragorn. "You see, Master Brandybuck, you have the ability to make a difference in both of their lives, if you will but take some care with your own." Aragorn smiled. He handed the oil to Merry who, after a brief struggle with the cork, poured some into his hands. He set the bottle aside, using his left hand, Aragorn noticed grimly, and began to gently massage Pippin's leg.

"I'm not hurting you, am I Pip?" he asked worriedly.

"No Merry, you could never hurt me," smiled Pippin. "It feels rather wonderful, actually," he chirped.

"In the early mornings, before breakfast, you will submerge your right arm for one half hour in hot athelas water. You will do this again each night before you sleep," Aragorn said sternly. Merry looked into the penetrating gray eyes. "If I hear you are not doing this, Merry, I will have no choice but to have a healer do it for you. I will also make sure you roll endless amounts of bandages until the dexterity is restored in that hand and arm. You can forego rolling bandages if you will willingly soak the arm night and day, and as treatment, massage Pippin and Frodo's legs, morning and night. Are we quite clear on this, Master Brandybuck?" Aragorn's face was stern.

"Yes, Strider. I will do as you ask," Merry said meekly.

"Very well. Valin, I'd like you to supervise as Merry works on Pippin's leg to make sure the right amount of pressure is applied," said Aragorn to the healer.

"Yes, my Liege," replied the healer with a smile. Aragorn rose and turned to go,

"Good day, gentlemen," he said as he exited. As he went into the hallway he spied the small form of the devoted gardener huddled against Frodo's door. He sighed in pity at how disheveled and thin the hobbit appeared. Sam, looked up at Aragorn, his large hazel eyes hopeful. Without a word Aragorn swept him up and held him close. Sam's head sank into Aragorn's neck with a sigh of contentment as they continued into Frodo's quarters.

TBC


	25. Chapter 25

Smoke and Mirrors

Chapter 25

When Aragorn and Sam entered Frodo's room, Sam gasped at the shrunken, frail form that was his master. Aragorn turned sad eyes on the gardener and said, "Frodo has been very ill, Sam. He is just now beginning to show signs of improvement. He will need your help to regain his strength and complete the healing journey."

Sam nodded, "He's so thin. I can practically see through him, his skin is so pale." His eyes roved over the emaciated frame, noting the dark circles that rimmed the now closed eyes. Frodo trembled as his body alternately fevered then chilled and, as Sam watched, he grimaced in pain as the right leg jerked. While they spoke, Saleth entered with a pitcher of cool water. He began placing a cool cloth on Frodo's feverish forehead. Aragorn quickly glanced at the healer with a small smile.

"It would be a great help if you could think of foods that Frodo enjoys. We are just starting him back on light broths and warm milk with honey. But soon he will need foods that are more substantial--not too rich or heavily spiced, but flavorful and nourishing," said Aragorn quietly.

"I know jes' what he needs. Some eggy custards with just a hint of nutmeg and cinnamon, some warm applesauce with cinnamon and honey, soft scones with a bit o' butter, lotsa mint teas and mayhaps a little porridge with cream and strawberries, if you have 'em, that is," Sam said excitedly, delighted to find something he could do to contribute to the care of his Master. Saleth smiled at Aragorn, then resumed his duties. Aragorn nodded at Sam.

"Indeed, you have a list of some choice dishes. No meats or fruits that are too acidic, they could upset his stomach, but a lot of sweet, soothing foods. Can I depend on you to oversee the preparations?"

"Of course, Mr. Strider. I can do it now," he wriggled to get down but Strider held him tight. Saleth almost chuckled out loud at the little gardener's exuberance to help his friend.

"No, Sam. You can go to the kitchens later and oversee the preparations personally for tomorrow's meals. Frodo is still not quite ready for much more than broth for today. Plan to start slow, perhaps with one or two items from your extensive list and in small bite sized portions. Do not expect him to sample more than that. For now, I think he would take great satisfaction in seeing you," Aragorn said. Aragorn slowly looked Sam over. The hobbit was pale and thinner than he had been a few days ago. He looked exhausted with his rumpled hair and clothes, and there were large dark circles under his eyes that spoke volumes as to the pain of being separated from his friend. The King decided other matters needed to be attended to first. "Sam, when did you eat or sleep last?" he asked. Sam eyes shifted down to the floor. "As I thought," Aragorn smiled wryly. "Very well,*after* you have eaten and bathed you may stay with Frodo as long as you wish. He needs the comfort gained through close contact of others." Sam made to object, wanting to go to his Master directly, foregoing his own needs. But Aragorn shot him a look that brooked no debate, and he grudgingly acquiesced. A meal was brought and Sam ate quickly. Once sated, he sat back, hands on his stomach and reclined against a large pillow on the divan where he had eaten. His eyes began to close of their own accord, until he heard Frodo's thrashing. He jumped to his feet and went to his Master, taking the frail hand in his and whispered soothing, nonsense words. Frodo relaxed at his touch, his brow unfurled and he drifted back into a light doze. Saleth and Aragorn had moved quietly to the doorway.

"That was a most ingenious way to include Master Gamgee in his Master's care, my Lord," said Saleth.

"All his life he has cared for Frodo. To leave him with nothing to do for his Master, would leave him frustrated and anxious," Aragorn smiled. "Besides, Frodo *will* do things for Sam that he might not be inclined to do for us. They need each other." He looked at the two and smiled warmly. Aragorn walked to the bed and, after checking Frodo, asked Sam to follow him. He took Sam to a private bath where steamy clouds filled with the heady scent of lavender greeted the small gardener as he entered. A large tub of sweetly scented hot water awaited him. On a nearby stool were clean towels and a change of clothing. A nightshirt was also there allowing him a choice of garments. Aragorn closed and latched the door as he left. Even though it would have been pleasant to relax and soak in the luxury of the hot tub, Sam washed quickly, toweled off and changed into the clean shirt and breeches. He then hurriedly left the bath house and ran back to Frodo's room. When he entered, Frodo was in the middle of having his own bath. Aragorn grinned at the gardener's obvious haste to return to his friend. Frodo reclined in the copper tub as Aragorn gently washed his hair and body with a large sponge. He eyes were half opened with a distant, glassy look to them. "I am afraid he was ill again and I wished to get him out of those sick clothes and into something clean. Also the hot bathes are very relaxing for the muscles in his legs. This seems the only way we can keep him calm for any length of time." Sam saw that healers had brought clean linens and were changing the bed. A large pot of mint tea and a tray of strange looking tubes. Sam remembered his mother using those when he had been very ill one winter, placing them inside of him to help give him fluids and medicines. He grimaced at the thought, remembering how uncomfortable and humiliating it had been, even for a seven year old. Aragorn gently lifted Frodo from the tub and after wrapping him in the fluffy towels, moved to the bed, placing a clean nightshirt on him. He gently rolled Frodo to his side and bringing the Ringbearer's small legs up to his chest, slowly inserted one of the boluses into his bottom. Frodo had become immune to the indignity of the boluses and simply lay back with a small sigh. His eyes opened and they no longer had the clouded, distant look in them as he stared up at Sam.

"Sam? Is it you?" he whispered, smiling wanly.

"Yes, Mr. Frodo. It's your Sam," Sam wept as he raced to Frodo's side. Clutching his Master's hand, tears flowed from his hazel eyes.

"No need for that, my dear," said Frodo gently, wiping them from Sam's face. "I'm so happy to see you. I thought you were gone. I called and called, but you didn't answer, and I couldn't find you," his lip quivered as he looked at his loyal companion.

"Oh, Mr. Frodo I couldn't come," Sam thoroughly broke down, feeling miserable at his inability to help his Master when he was needed most. Aragorn tried to comfort both sobbing hobbits but finally decided to let them find comfort in each other. He lifted the gardener onto the huge bed and Sam pulled his Master close. They clutched at each other until finally, Frodo was spent and leaned heavily against his servant. "I'll never leave you, Mr. Frodo. You were so sick, they thought it best to keep me away, but I'm here now and wild ponies couldn't drag me from you, sir," Sam said vehemently.

Aragorn smiled warmly at them both. "Sam, slide in behind Frodo and let's see if we can get some food down him, all right?"

Frodo groaned. "Why do you bother? I just throw it up or it ends up in the chamber pot seconds after its swallowed," he murmured.

"Now Master, I'll not have any of that feelin' sorry for yourself." Sam rolled his eyes dramatically at Frodo, causing Frodo to giggle. "Your Sam will take care of you. We'll get you some right decent hobbit food if I have any say about it," he gently lifted Frodo so that he lay propped against his chest. Frodo couldn't help but chuckle.

"I have missed you, my dear, dear Sam," he said with a smile. They slowly fed him the mint tea which, to Frodo, tasted exquisite, his mouth savoring the refreshing liquid. Then Aragorn gave him the milk with honey that contained the Valerian root and hypericum. This was Frodo's favorite drink and he looked forward to it at each meal time. His body craved the calories and nourishment, but it was the cinnamon and nutmeg spiced milk, steaming right from the kettle, that reminded Frodo of chilly winter nights spent in front of the fire at Bag End with dear Bilbo. Next Aragorn tried a thin meat based broth. Frodo took only a few sips of this and declared himself full.

"How are you feeling Frodo? Has the cramping diminished in your stomach?" asked Aragorn as he gently felt Frodo's abdomen.

"It feels more settled this eve. I believe the milk and tea actually may stay down this time and they tasted very good for once. Perhaps I *am* feeling a bit better. I still feel terribly dizzy and I'm as weak as a bairn," he whispered. Sam moved out from behind him and lay him on his side. Frodo's eyes drifted slowly shut as the fullness of his stomach, the shear effort of eating and the emotional reunion with Sam took its toll on his exhausted body. Sam moved slowly off of the bed and grasping Aragorn's hand, drug him towards the door. Once they were outside he turned to Aragorn.

"Strider, *is* he getting better? He weighs practically nothin' and why is his face so bruised?" the gardener demanded.

"Sam," Aragorn knelt down so that he was eye to eye with the hobbit, "Frodo had some vivid hallucinations yesterday and unfortunately, we had to subdue him before he could hurt himself. I am sorry, but I had to strike him and then we were able to treat him afterwards.” Sam’s eyes flew open, but he didn’t interrupt the King. “He is past the worst of the withdrawal, I believe, but now needs nurturing. He needs comfortable situations with his friends, stories of the Shire, foods that are connected to happier times. These are things that will bolster his desire to recover and remind him of what he has so valiantly fought for."

Sam nodded sadly, "But he will recover, right?" he asked.

"Yes, Sam. Each day he grows a little stronger." Aragorn glanced up, coming towards them was a very tired looking Merry, his right arm hung limply at his side. "Merry, you are unwell?” asked the King as he bent down before the hobbit.

"No, Strider, I am all right, just very tired and sore," he grimaced as he tried to move the useless arm with no effect.

"You are obviously too fatigued to give Frodo a massage. This can wait until morning. I think, perhaps you should go and soak in a hot bath, have a hot meal and retire," said Aragorn worriedly, noting how pale and wan Merry's face looked.

"I am all right. I want to help Frodo," he said testily.

"No Merry, I have pushed you too hard today. You will soak and then rest, that is not a request," Aragorn said gruffly. He lifted the exhausted hobbit and retraced his steps back towards the hobbit's room and the bath house.

"Well, at least Pippin seemed to enjoy the massage. He's sleeping like a bairn." Merry said with a yawn.

"Then you have earned a rest, my friend. Sam will attend Frodo for now," Aragorn said. He looked down at the hobbit and saw, amusedly, that he was beginning to nod off. "Not yet, Master Brandybuck, soak first, then sleep." He increased his pace, heading for the bath house before the hobbit could succumb to his exhaustion. Sam crawled into the huge bed next to Frodo and pulled him close to his body. Frodo released a contented sigh and nestled into the warmth of his friend. He pushed his face into Sam's chest inhaling the comforting scent of fresh earth and lavender soap. Sam smiled beatifically as he finger combed Frodo's curls and slowly his eyes closed as he fell into a long deserved sleep.

TBC


	26. Chapter 26

Smoke and Mirrors

Chapter 26

Sam awoke first and lay close enough to Frodo to see his Master's face as he struggled towards wakefulness. Slowly, the blue eyes opened and Frodo offered a tired, gentle smile, which Sam returned. "How long have you been lying there watching me, Samwise Gamgee?" he whispered.

"Not long, Mr. Frodo. How do you feel, sir?" Frodo rolled languidly onto his back. His eyes closed slowly and he mentally took inventory of his body's aches and pains. Surprisingly, he felt somewhat better than he had thought he would.

"I'm thirsty," he said slowly, opening his eyes equally slowly. "Perhaps some mint tea," he murmured. "And my stomach is rumbling," he continued softly, his eyes closed again. His eyes opened wide and he gradually turned to face Sam again. "Sam...Sam...I think I'm a bit ...hungry," he said in astonishment. Sam's eyes lit up. Frodo smiled wanly at his good friend. "Just a little hungry, mind you, Sam. Please don't over do it like you usually do, all right?" he looked at his gardener with trepidation, imagining a huge tray laden with all sorts of meats, breads and stews all of which sounded horrible enough to bring on another bout of nausea.

"Mr. Frodo! Would I do that to you?" Sam said, with a twinkle in his eye. Frodo truly did look worried. "I promise, jus' a little somethin' to go with the tea," Sam smiled reassuringly. "Don't go worrin' yourself for nothin', I know you've been off your feed of late, I'll take good care of ya, you can depend on that, sir", he said earnestly.

"You always do, Sam. You always do," Frodo whispered as his eyes began to close once again. "Sam?" "Yes, sir?" "Could you help me up? I need to use the chamber pot before you go," he asked with some urgency.

"Of course, Mr. Frodo. But mayhaps I should get King Strider instead," he said anxiously.

"Nonsense, Sam. We can do this together, and I can't wait besides. Please, just gradually pull me up, no sudden movements, then you can go to the kitchens, all right?" Frodo looked pleadingly at Sam.

"All right, Mr. Frodo," Sam said hesitantly. He sat up, got down from the bed, retrieved the chamber pot, and came back to the bedside. He clambered back up onto the bed and began to unhurriedly lift Frodo's shoulders until he was in an upright position. Frodo's eyes were closed, his face a shade of gray it hadn't been a few moments before. "Are you all right, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked with concern. Frodo swayed and trembled violently as another wave of vertigo washed over him. Sam looked worriedly at the sweating, ashen face. Feeling he was definitely out of his element here, he began calling for Aragorn.

"Sam, please, it will pass. Just lea' me sii' ’or amommmmen," Frodo slurred. Aragorn rushed in and saw Sam supporting a very shaken looking Frodo against his chest while trying to clasp a chamber pot on the bed. He was at the bedside in two strides.

"What happened, Sam?" he asked quickly. "He wanted to use the chamber pot, sir. I was only tryin' to help him out, if you take my meanin', Mr. King, sir" Sam said breathlessly.

"I do, Sam," Aragorn smiled slightly at Sam. "I'll take over here, Sam. Why don't you go get Frodo some nice, hot tea?" he said softly. "I was gonna get Mr. Frodo some breakfast. He said he was hungry," Sam's eyes sparkled at this revelation.

"Did he, now?" Aragorn's eyes shifted quickly to the barely conscious hobbit leaning heavily against the gardener. Deftly, he maneuvered himself between Frodo and Sam. "On your way, Sam" he said as he gently lowered the gardener to the floor. He grasped the chamber pot and placed it back under the bed, and retrieved a small jar from the table side for the task instead. Sam backed towards the door.

"He'll be all right, won't he, sir?" Sam said worriedly.

"He will be fine, Sam. He is just a little woozy. You hurry along and get that tea, I will attend to Mr. Baggins," Aragorn smiled reassuringly. Sam scurried away and down the hall towards the kitchens. Aragorn's smile evaporated as soon as Sam turned his back, all of his attentions now focused on the small hobbit that was leaning, drunkenly against him. "Frodo,....Frodo..." he tapped the hobbit's face gently. Bleary blue eyes struggled to look up at him. Aragorn allowed a small grin at the hobbit. "Next time, call me to assist you, all right?"

"I'mm jes alill dissy," he slurred

"You've been lying down for about three weeks now, it is expected. I have a jar here so you can relieve yourself. It is all ready, just let *it* go and then we will lie you back down," he said softly.

"Hummiliatinn," garbled Frodo.

"Yes, it is. But for now, it is the only way," whispered Aragorn. He placed the Ringbearer on his lap and the jar in its strategic location. But with the presence of Aragorn waiting and watching for him to produce the by product, Frodo found suddenly he could not go. He groaned in frustration.

"Cannnt do it," he sobbed and slumped heavily against Aragorn.

Aragorn smiled. "Very well, this calls for drastic measures, I see." He reached to the side for the water pitcher and began pouring a trickle of water into a cup. The tinkling sound of the water falling from the pitcher into the cup was too much for Frodo and, without conscious thought, he felt relief flood through him and his body. He smiled drunkenly at Aragorn who smiled back. "Works every time," Aragorn said as he grinned down at Frodo. He lay the Ringbearer back onto his pillows after depositing the make shift urinal onto the floor. "Feel better? he asked, as he tucked his friend in.

"Mussh," replied the small hero. The door cracked open and Aragorn looked around spying Merry as he popped his head in.

"May I come in, cousin?" he asked cheerfully.

"Merry!" Frodo gasped. "What a wonderful surprise," he smiled widely. His eyes had regained their clarity now that the room had stopped spinning. "Whatever are you doing here?" he asked.

"What, I can't visit my ailing cousin without a reason?" Merry said with mock indignation. "I, my dear love, am to give you a massage today."

"A what?" Frodo grinned.

"A massage. It means I gently rub the muscles until they relax. It feels wonderful, according to Pip. It's suppose to help with your muscle spasms," he said brightly. Frodo frowned at being reminded of the cause of those spasms, being the withdrawal from the opiate.

"My muscle spasms. I see." Aragorn sensed a definite change in Frodo's mood. He looked at the the hobbit and saw, what? anger? "I don't need any special attention, Merry. The spasms arn't nearly as bad as they were," his eyes shifted away.

Merry looked aghast. "But Frodo, I want to help," he stammered.

"Frodo, perhaps you should know that this is therapy for Merry as well as yourself and Pippin. He has been most neglectful of his injured hand, and needs to work the muscles and ligaments in order to regain their former strength.," Aragorn said softly.

Frodo's eyes widened and he turned quickly to look at Merry. Merry cringed and backed away slowly, hiding his right hand behind his back. "Strider why'd you have to say that?" he stammered, his eyes tearing up.

"Let me see it," Merry looked up as Frodo said this. He shook his head.

"It's nothing, Frodo, really," he whispered. Frodo's eyes were moist.

"Let me see your hand, Meriadoc. Now." Frodo held out a trembling left hand. Merry put his right hand in Frodo's Aragorn could see it was still curled unnaturally, the arm trembled as Merry stretched it towards Frodo. Frodo took the hand and looked up at Merry with grief stricken eyes. "It's so cold, oh.. Merry, I am so sorry." he sobbed.

"Sorry, but why Frodo? You didn't do this to me. It was the Witch King," Merry said softly. Frodo trembled at the mention of the Ringwraith that had not only stabbed him, but who had also brought this damage on his dear cousin, as well.

"But I *did* do this, Merry, I did. Don't you see? It's all my fault you were there. All my fault. You should've been back in the Shire, courting lasses and having bairns. You would've been safe if not for me," Frodo had worked himself up until now he was weeping, his head leaned over Merry's maimed hand, his tears falling warm against the cold skin. Aragorn had watched the exchange, lines of concern for both of his friends etching his face.

"Easy, Frodo," he said and gently helped the hobbit roll back onto his back.

"It's all right, Frodo. The massages I'm giving Pippin are helping a lot. I can even pick up small things now. And Strider has me soak in hot athelas water morning and night. It will get better. Soon, no one will ever know I was injured, you'll see," Merry spoke desperately trying to calm is overwrought cousin. Frodo seemed irreconcilable as the guilt overwhelmed him. Aragorn soothed the hobbit quietly, placing a cool cloth on his forehead, and washing away the tears. Finally, Frodo's eyes slipped closed in exhaustion and his sobs became small hiccups. He still held Merry's hand, and he opened his eyes to mere slits, looking up at him. Merry stood looking down at him, his eyes wide with worry, his face pale.

"Merry?" Frodo said quietly.

"Yes, Frodo?" Merry whispered.

"Would it be too much to ask you for one of your massages?" Frodo whispered back.

Merry's face lit up with a wide grin. "It would be a pleasure, cousin." Frodo smiled wanly.

Aragorn sighed in relief. "I think I will leave you two gentlemen alone for now," Aragorn said, rising. "Sam will be bringing you breakfast shortly, Frodo. Absolutely no more adventures today," he said grinning.

"I'll take care of him, Strider," Merry said with a grin. Merry moved up on the bed and, straddling his cousin, looked into the blue eyes, so filled with pain. "It's really all right, Frodo. I did my part for the War, as did you. We all made sacrifices. The important thing is that we survived. We came through it. I have no regrets, and neither should you, cousin," he smiled softly. Frodo smiled back at this person before him whom he had once jounced on his knee, played hide and sneak and conkers with and who now, had grown into the great warrior hobbit before him. His eyes teared as he gazed up at his little cousin, little no more for so many reasons. "Roll over, Frodo. Here, let me help you," Merry gently rolled Frodo onto his stomach, placing pillows about him to relieve the pressure off of his abdomen and making a comfortable nitch for his head. He took the warmed oil and, pulling back the sheet from Frodo's legs, began to work it into the taut muscles. He grimaced as he looked at the skin covered bones that once were Frodo's muscular legs. Suddenly afraid to apply too much pressure lest he break the legs like so many twigs. "Am I hurting you, Frodo? he asked worriedly.

"Mmmph," came the reply. Merry smiled.

"Frodo, you have to tell me if this hurts or is uncomfortable, all right?"

"Feels wonderful," came the muffled response.

"Frodo, do you remember when you took Bluebell Bracegirdle’s best dress off her line of wash and dressed Hartle's prize pig in it?" Merry asked, chuckling at the memory. Frodo was dimly aware that Merry was speaking, his eyes had slipped closed of their own volition. He was dozing comfortably, lost in the hazy, ecstasy that Merry's fingers were working on his aching muscles. His last conscious thought was of Hartle Bracegirdle being thumped repeatedly by Bluebell's broom for dressing the huge pig, prize winner or not, in her very best dress. The pig had actually looked pretty good. A blissful smile touched his lips, as he relaxed for the first time in weeks.

TBC


	27. Chapter 27

Smoke and Mirrors

Chapter 27

"Hoy, what's this?" said Sam as he entered the room bearing a tray of light foods to tempt Frodo. "I leave and he's awake, and now he's practically asleep. How am I suppose to get 'em to eat now?" The gardener said with more bluff than blunder, winking at Merry.

"I'm awake Samm...jus relaxnn abit," came the muffled response from Frodo. Indeed, he did look relaxed, more so than he had in weeks, and this brought Sam no small amount of joy. His Master seemed himself almost, and Sam felt his heart near to bursting to witness it.

"Food, you say? Well, never let it be said a Brandybuck couldn't stop what he was doing for a bite," smiled Merry as he slid down from the bed and washed his hands in the basin.

"Hah! Not for you, Mr. Merry. All of these dainties here are for Mr. Frodo to try, con-va-lesson foods, they call 'em." Merry gave a small scowl.

"Very well, Sam. I guess I'll just have to go have elevenses with Pip." He bent down to Frodo's ear and whispered, "I'm not done with you, cousin. So don't go anywhere." Frodo smiled weakly in return. Merry rolled Frodo to his back, and then slowly he and Sam pulled him into a sitting position, braced with many pillows. Once the vertigo from the move had settled, Frodo was fairly comfortable and quite famished.

"Now, Mr. Aragorn said I was to give you just small tastes of soft foods. You'll have to tell me, Mr. Frodo, what tastes best to you, then I can bring more next time," Sam said happily.

"You mean, what stays down the longest, don't you, dear Sam?" whispered Frodo.

"Now, we'll have none o' that. You're on the mend, you are. I prepared most o' this meself or had the cooks fix 'em hobbit style. I think you'll like 'em, and they you, jes' fine," Sam said proudly. He began uncovering small saucers and cups, and Frodo was relieved to see no soups, meats or stews---none of which would have sat well on his tricky stomach. Sam pointed to each item with pride. "Here's a bit of applesauce with some cinnamon and honey, some porridge with something they call "maple syrup"--they get it outta trees, ya know, it's the strangest thing to see, but very good. Over here I've brought some custard with nutmeg and cinnamon and a pot of tea and a glass of carrot juice. Oh, also a small soft scone with a bit o' butter. How's that all look to you, Master?" he asked looking worried and expectantly at Frodo's face for the slightest grimace of distaste.

"It looks wonderful, Sam," Frodo said genuinely. "Let's just see how it goes, all right? Perhaps just a small bite of each for now," he smiled wanly at his loyal friend.

"That's good, Mr. Frodo. Here, let's try a bit o' the porridge with that syrup, I think you'll like it," he said bringing a small spoonful to Frodo's mouth. Frodo's eyes lit up.

"Oh Sam, you're right as usual, it really is quite wonderful. Could I have another bite of that?" Frodo said, hungrily.

"Of course, Mr. Frodo," Sam was delighted to see his Master not only eating, but actually enjoying the foods he had brought, almost like he used to. Frodo ate four more bites of the porridge and then decided to try the custard. It too, was delicious, but after only three bites, he was full.

"I'm sorry, Sam and after all the trouble you went through too," Frodo fretted.

"Nonsense, Mr. Frodo. It's been awhile since you've eaten' anything proper 'cept medicine and broth, your poor stomach jes' wants to go slow is all.  I'll leave this on the table and come back later. Mosta' this will still be plenty tasty if we keep it covered," he said.

"That sounds like a marvelous idea, Sam. I'm sure I'll want more in a little bit. But now, I'm a bit tired. I think I'll rest my eyes for awhile, all right?" Frodo said slowly, his eyes already beginning to close.

"I can stay if you like, Mr. Frodo?" Frodo looked at Sam. He looked tired and underfed, for a hobbit.

"I think it would make me very much happier if you had a decent meal and slept a bit, my friend. Think of it as a personal favor, would you?" Frodo asked, trying to manipulate the gardener into taking care of himself for a change, by phrasing it just so.

"Well....if that's what you really want, Mr. Frodo." Sam frowned. "I suppose I could have elevenses with Mr. Pippin and Mr. Merry and then take a wee nap," he hesitated. "Don't feel right, jes' leavin' you here alone." A war was raging within Sam whether to do what his Master asked or just stay and keep watch over him as he slept.

"Sam, I will be fine. I'm seldom alone and, after all, I'm just going to take a nap. Don't be silly. Besides, it will upset me no end if you become more exhausted or thinner because of taking care of me," Frodo said.

"It's what I want to do, Mr. Frodo," Sam said earnestly, "It's always been what I *wanted* to do," he caressed his Master's face gently.

"Dear, dear Sam. Where would I ever be without you?" Frodo murmured. His eyes closed slowly as he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

"You'll never have ta' find out, me dear," Sam whispered. He crept from the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Now that he was in the corridor, the full weight of his exhaustion suddenly overcame him, and he staggered slowly down the hall, one hand sliding against the wall for support. At that moment, Aragorn came out of Merry and Pippin's room and saw the small gardener, head hung low in fatigue, as he stumbled towards him. He rushed forward and scooped the hobbit up into his arms.

"Sam, are you quite all right?" he asked worriedly.

"I dunno what's come over me, Mr. Strider. I was fine but a moment ago when I was with Mr. Frodo, but now I feel outta sorts, kinda weak, if you understand me, Sir" Sam said numbly.

Aragorn smile grimly. "I have been expecting this for some time, it's a wonder you held out as long as you did. You're near collapse, my friend. For this last month you have done nothing but worry and care for your Master, taking no cares for yourself, and only now that Frodo is finally beginning to heal, are you paying the price for your devotion." Sam lay unyielding in the rangers comforting embrace.

He looked up at Aragorn. "You know how it is, with 'em, Mr. Strider? I love 'em, he's my best friend. You love 'em too. No matter what I might need, I am helpless to turn away from 'em. He has always been my first concern, and always will be," he finished quietly.

"Yes Sam, I do understand. But now that he's resting let us see to *your* needs and then you can return to him, refreshed." said Aragorn quietly. He bore the hobbit into the hobbits' room and lay him amongst the hobbit pile that was Merry and Pippin. They greeted him enthusiastically and began pointing to the various dishes before them that he should try. He ate slowly at first, but then with gusto as his stomach realized how long it had gone without. Once sated, all three hobbits leaned back almost as one and sighed contentedly.

"Now all we need is a pipe," said Merry. Pippin's eyes lit up,

"Aye, 'would taste wonderful about now." Surreptitiously his eyes shifted to Aragorn who sat smoking quietly near the bed. He smiled at them, then reached into his pocket pulling forth a pouch of pipeweed. He then produced three pipes, *their* pipes, from the cupboard.

"I thought you might be needing these," he said with a smile.

"Won’t we get in trouble? Saleth was very clear we weren't to smoke in here," said Pippin with wide eyes. He looked longingly at the pipe and tobacco.

"When has trouble ever been a deterrent to you, Master Took?" said the ranger. "I will take full responsibility, and we will close the door," Aragorn said as he looked guiltily towards the hall. He got up and make to close the door, but was stopped by a hand pushing it back towards him. A collective gasp went up within the room.

"Might I come in? asked Gandalf. "Ahh, I see four guilty faces. Let me see, a smoking party, it seems. Well, I have no alternative but...." four faces looked expectantly at the grinning face of the wizard..."to join you, of course," he chuckled as he slipped inside and locked the door behind him. All present sighed in relief. Pipes were lit and soon, the room was filled with smoke rings, Gandalf's being both red and blue. "While we are all together, I think perhaps, we should discuss Frodo's care," said Gandalf thoughtfully. He blew out a puff of smoke shaped like a great castle. The hobbits sat watching in fascination. "Is he not much better?" he asked.

"I hesitate to say as yet. He is better but there are still things he needs to deal with in order to complete his healing," said Aragorn slowly. "He will need to talk about things he may not wish to talk about," he turned to the hobbits, but his eyes connected with Merry's. He will need to unburden himself to someone. Someone who may also need to speak of *his own* burdens." Merry nodded imperceptibly. "Sam, you will need to fill us in on much of your journey. I believe the time you were separated from Frodo at Cirith Ungol will not be easily revealed to us by Frodo, and yet it seems to haunt his nights and days the most," said Aragorn. Sam winced at the memory of his inability to save his Master from the orcs on that fateful day. Aragorn noticed this. "Sam you saved him, without you Frodo would not be here with us now. Do not berate yourself for leaving him when you thought him dead," he said quietly. Sam nodded solemnly. "It will be hard, but we must try to get Frodo to talk of his experiences so that he can overcome the hold those memories have over him. Once done, the nightmares will gradually fade and hopefully, Frodo will regain a happier outlook on life. That is our goal, in any case, gentlemen," he sighed.

"Perhaps, I'll go back and finish that massage," said Merry suddenly.

"Very well, Merry. You are in a unique position to get Frodo to relax and open up to you at the same time," smiled Aragorn.

"I'll take care of him, Strider," said Merry as he departed. Aragorn looked back at Pippin and Sam as the door closed behind Merry. Sam was struggling to remain awake, his eyes half closed. Pippin was itching his leg with a long stick shoved down under the bandages. He had a most unusual look on his face, a mixture of determination and utter bliss.

"Pippin, stop that!" said Aragorn brusquely.

"I can’t help it. This board and bandages thing is making me half crazy. How soon before I'll be free of it, anyway?" he said petulantly. Aragorn got up and unwrapped the leg. he let his hands travel slowly down the limb, pressing lightly on the areas most damaged and watching Pippin's face for any sign of discomfort.

"Does it hurt, Pippin?" he asked.

"Only a little, it's mostly itchy." As if to demonstrate his point he began scratching in earnest.

"Stop, you'll only irritate your skin and make it worse. I have something that will help," Aragorn went to the cub bard and retrieved a small jar of some sort of balm, and began rubbing it into the leg. Pippin closed his eyes as the rather pungent aroma and gentle touch soothed his discomfort. Soon he was dozing. Aragorn lowered the wooden support and gathered the bandages. "I believe Pippin, you no longer need these." Gandalf chucked. The men arose, covered the napping hobbits and left the room, closing the door behind them.

"They heal rather fast, don't they?" commented Gandalf as they walked down the corridor.

"Some faster than others, it would seem." Aragorn said grimly. "They are a most resilient race. Apparently able to endure far more than the most sturdy and able of men, dwarves or elves," he said with a touch of wonder in his voice.

"And yet, they have a simple wonder for life and the living of it. They live as we all should, I think. Innocently without strife or bias," Gandalf said thoughtfully.

"Frodo has lost that innocence. His life forever shadowed by what has happened to him, leagues away from the serenity and security of the Shire," Aragorn said sadly.

"They have all been touched by this evil, Frodo more so than the others. We must have hope that some small part of his former self is still within his grasp," Gandalf said quietly.

"Resilience, that is the key, my friend. Resilience, along with the encouragement only his friends and those that love him can give. It will be done, we will restore his faith and, hopefully, some of his serenity. I swear an oath to do so," Aragorn said determinedly.

TBC


	28. Chapter 28

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 28

 

Merry slowly opened the door to Frodo's room and peeked inside. All he could see of his cousin was his tousled head upon the pillow. He silently closed the door behind him and crept to the bed. Frodo’s eyes were closed, his face composed in still beauty. Merry looked upon that face that had got him in and out of so many scrapes back home. Gone was the innocent facade that Frodo had been able to ply on any and all matrons at Brandyhall. Left in its place, the creases and worn appearance of one who had suffered too much in too short a time. Dark smudges lay below the long eyelashes. Pronounced cheekbones spoke of nights and days of sparse meals and little rest.

Reaching up he caressed the cheek softly, "No more, my dear. If it takes forever, we will see you whole again," he spoke lovingly. Frodo's eyes opened slowly, and Merry was once again, caught in the blue depths. "Your eyes, Frodo. Your eyes are such a color I've never seen anywhere else in the Shire. They're so ... blue," he said.

Frodo smiled. "You are just now noticing my eyes are blue," he said matter-of-factly.

"Of course not! I've seen your eyes before, it's just that..." he searched for the words.

"Just what, Merry?" Frodo said quietly, suppressing a grin.

"Well, it's just that...they're not a typical blue, they're more indigo, I'd say," Merry stammered, feeling incredibly silly, standing there caressing his cousin's face and talking of, of all things, his eyes. He blushed. "I've come back to give you that back massage, I promised," he said flushing crimson.

Frodo laughed. A real laugh, at Merry's obvious discomfort. "Merry, I'm glad you like my eyes," he said smiling. His cousin turned even redder, if possible, and Frodo laughed even harder. It was a wonderful sound that Merry had not heard, it seemed, for an age. This alone made him start laughing too and he felt his heart lighten considerably. "Enough of you," said Merry as he poked at his cousin. "Roll over and prepare to be made into bread dough," he said brusquely.

"Oh, have mercy on an old hobbit," laughed Frodo. "Merry....you *are* a delight." Merry jumped up on the bed and gently rolled Frodo onto his stomach. He placed the pillows around his cousin's body to keep his head and abdomen from being pressed into the bed. Merry had to squelch the gasp that rose to his lips. Frodo's back was a purple crisscross design of healing, ragged welts. He could count every rib, every bone that was on his cousin's back, he was so thin. The pale skin was livid with reminders of the orcs brutality. Again, he tried to fathom what his dear friend had been forced to endure. "Comfy?" Merry asked, his voice quavered slightly. He sat astride Frodo, oil in hand.

"Just. If it weren't for this huge Brandybuck squashing me, that is," came the muffled reply.

"Really? Frodo, am I squashing you? I can move a little...." a frantic Merry asked.

"Merry, please. I won't break. I was only jesting with you." Frodo turned to look over his shoulder with a large smile. "We used to jest quite alot, as I recall, don't you remember?"

"Sorry, Frodo, but you have been quite sick. And while I do want to jest, I don't want to squash you.....but maybe..." he smiled.

"Maybe what?" Frodo asked hesitantly. Merry was notorious about, once he had someone pinned, using it to his advantage unmercifully.

"Since I have you, cousin, perhaps you could give me a little more of that laughter I heard earlier. It truly was a delight to my ears," Merry grinned slyly. Frodo's eyes widened as he realized Merry's intent. "I seem to recall it was Pippin that was the one with the ticklish feet, but you, my dear, were oh so ticklish along your ribs---is that correct, Frodo?" Merry smiled widely.

"Merry ... you wouldn't ..." Frodo began. "Oh no .... no... Merry...not the ribs." Frodo started giggling and thrashing as Merry's nimble fingers dug and poked along the ribcage. "Mer...Mer..." (giggle, chortle, gasped) Frodo was helpless with laughter, to the point where he was gasping for air. Merry chuckled as Frodo bucked and flailed to escape the onslaught. Frodo's thoughts drifted to happier times when the three of them, Merry, Pippin and himself had piled onto each other and tickled and laughed so hard they had ended up exhausted, their faces tearstained. Merry had always been the largest and could hold him down (holdhimdown) with one hand, tickling with the other. He could hold him down....(hold him down....). Time seemed to slow, then stop. Frodo found himself suddenly world's away from Merry and the happy memories of the Shire. He was being held down....(held down, they were holding him down, holding him down, holding him down....) dirty clawed hands pawed at his body. Horribly twisted, stinking faces leered down at him in his nakedness. Knives were run along his flesh and he was helpless to move (holdinghimdownholdinghimdown), helpless to escape the agony. Even unto unconsciousness because then the poison brew was poured into him and he was forced to swallow. Suddenly, he kicked and violently twisted trying to escape the claws (holdinghimdownholdinghimdown) that held him tight. A low feral scream began in his gut until he pushed it out through his throat and it became a desperate animal cry for release. He screamed, retched and screamed some more, twisting, thrashing, desperate to escape the stench, the pain, the humility. He screamed for his very life, his last desperate struggle against those that would tear asunder all that he was, all that he had ever been, those who had taken His Ring.

 

                                                                                       ******

 

Merry giggled as he watched Frodo twist. He held him now with one hand as he tickled with the other. Then something went horribly wrong. Frodo stopped struggling, his muscles tensed beneath Merry's weight. With a sudden burst of strength that Merry thought Frodo no longer capable of, he began fighting Merry like one possessed. He flailed and kicked, but then he started to make a low growling sound, low in his chest, that erupted into an ear splitting wail, like a wounded animal being torn in two. Merry released him and sat straddling Frodo, a look of complete and total terror on his face. Frodo twisted and kicked and immediately Merry found himself on the floor beside the bed. Frodo screamed again, a scream that made the hair on Merry's neck, stand on end. A scream of desperation and agony so deep that Merry felt nauseous just at the sound of it. Aragorn and Saleth burst through the door and froze at the sight that greeted their eyes. Merry was on the floor, pale and badly shaken, apparently in shock, his eyes riveted on Frodo. Frodo had moved away from the bed into the corner where the headboard met the cabinet, his eyes wide and unseeing, a sheen of sweat coated his trembling face and body. At a glance, Aragorn could see that Frodo did not know where he was, seeing something so terrifying and indescribable that Aragorn's heart sank in despair.

"Merry....Merry, what happened?" Aragorn shook Merry until the hobbit pulled his eyes away from what had been, his cousin, until a moment ago. Merry didn't recognize the pathetic creature before him. He seemed more wild animal than hobbit, and this terrified Merry beyond endurance.

He looked up into Aragorn's eyes, tears flowing down his face, "What have I done? What's wrong with him, Strider?" he plead. He grasped Strider's tunic desperately, "What's wrong with him?" he shouted at the King.

"Merry, tell me what happened," said Aragorn trying to sound calm although his guts were wrenching at the sight of the Ringbearer. Saleth was trying to approach Frodo, to calm him, but this resulted in another screaming wail and a litany of threats. Aragorn motioned for him to be still. Frodo cringed further back into the corner of the headboard. The hobbit had completely withdrawn into himself and was trembling violently, his eyes shifting quickly between Saleth, Aragorn and Merry, as he rocked back and forth on his heels.

"We were laughing," Merry smiled a little at the memory, "and jesting. It was wonderful to hear him laugh again," he murmured. "Then I started tickling him and he was giggling like when we were little hobbits. I held him down and went for under his ribs---Frodo's really ticklish there. But he stopped moving and he got all tensed up underneath me, then he started kicking and flailing. You should have seen him, Strider, it was like he was under attack by some fell monster. He was kicking so hard, I fell off the bed. Then he started screaming, screams I've never heard from any creature in Middle Earth, and hope to never hear again," Merry was sobbing now. "What happened? I don't understand, he was fine. He was *more* than fine, and now he's ....he's. What is it? What did I *do* to him?" he sobbed inconsolably.

Aragorn pulled Merry to him and sighed. He grimly looked over at Frodo. "I will explain after we get Frodo calmed down. For now, stand over here in case we need your help. He doesn't recognize us right now, Merry, so we may need you to help us subdue him," he said sadly. Frodo could tell they were talking about him. They kept looking his way and reaching out towards him. He looked around for some way to defend himself, determined not to let them repeat the horrible things they had done before, to him. A tray of food was on the table near the bed, complete with large, man sized utensils. He reached out quickly, grasping the knife that lay on the tray. Saleth gasped. He had been watching the Ringbearer while Aragorn had tried to calm Merry, and had witnessed the grab for the knife. The knife was very long, made for a man, and Frodo held it in his right hand by the blade, causing the bandages to slowly turn crimson in his desperate grip. He pointed the blade at Aragorn then Saleth as they made to approach him, panic clear on his face and body, the small hand now running with a bright red stream of blood. He felt no pain.

"You will not touch me! I will not allow your fell claws to paw my body, I will not drink your brew. Your Master wanted me 'Alive and Unspoiled', but you shall have neither!" Merry almost didn't recognize the growling low, voice of his cousin, it was so full of menace and loathing. The look on Frodo's face was no longer one of fear, but one of acceptance and finality. Suddenly, Merry knew what Frodo intended to do and it chilled him to the bone.

"Aragorn, he means to sacrifice himself in order to avoid capture!" Merry cried. Aragorn had seen the look in Frodo's eyes and recognized it for what it was. He had seen many soldiers with that same look when placed in impossible situations where a choice had to be made between the sacrifice of their life or complying with whatever the enemy wanted. He knew they needed to move quickly to avoid disaster. Frodo brought the knife swiftly up to his throat,

"I deny you your prize!" he said without emotion. As he made to slice across the pale flesh, Aragorn leapt and grabbed the thin arm, pulling it away from his neck and pinning it to the bed. Frodo screamed and twisted in frustration, his cries those of a soul tortured beyond endurance.

"Saleth, Valerian Root, NOW!" yelled Aragorn.

Saleth hesitated then scurried to retrieve the jar. "My Liege, it is very potent in this form, are you sure?" Saleth asked hurriedly. Merry had grabbed Frodo's legs and now sat astride them to keep him from kicking Aragorn. Aragorn was trying desperately to subdue the hobbit who continued to fight and struggle beneath him. Frodo was weakening. He had been strengthened by the adrenaline coursing through his small body, but now it was fading and he had no reserves to draw on to fight his attackers.

"Saleth, I know it is dangerous, but we must calm him or I will have to strike him again. I will monitor him carefully, now give me the paste.” Saleth held the twisting, bloodied hands while Aragorn leaned over the crazed hobbit and pried open his mouth. "No biting, Frodo," Aragorn allowed a small smile. But one look in Frodo's eyes told him that he was beyond control, so terrified, so panic stricken, that the King again wondered at what had been done to this fragile creature. He felt at the pulse point on Frodo's neck, and found it racing faster than he could count, the ragged breaths coming much too quickly. If they didn't do something soon Frodo would die from sheer terror. Aragorn dipped two fingers into the paste, bringing out a large gob.

Saleth gasped, "Too much! Too much!" he exclaimed. Aragorn looked up into the healer's frightened eyes and wiped off one of the fingers. Saleth relaxed slightly. He quickly slipped the bitter paste under Frodo's tongue and pushed his head back, closing the whimpering lips of his friend. He waited patiently until he saw Frodo grimace and swallow then Aragorn just held him, immobilizing him against his chest. Aragorn understood exactly how much energy the hobbit had expended and knowing that the small body could not withstand any further losses. He spoke softly to him, watching Frodo's eyes. They were wide with panic and tears flowed freely down his face.

His lips trembled, "please, please, don't hurt me anymore," Frodo whimpered.

Aragorn's face crumpled in grief as he looked down on his friend's face, "no more pain, Frodo, no more pain. Just try to relax, little one," he whispered as his tears fell, mingling with Frodo's. Frodo's mouth quivered as his eyes slowly closed. He struggled to remain conscious but his body, heavy with fatigue, fought against him. His eyes finally rolled up into his head as he slipped into oblivion.

TBC


	29. Chapter 29

Disclaimer: All characters and places depicted are the sole property of the JRR Tolkien Estate, my only claim to fame is this small piece of fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Medical Disclaimer: While extensive research has been done, none of the cures or procedures depicted in this story should be used without first consulting a medical professional. Also, there may be graphic medical details and wee hobbit behinds in this chapter, so if that makes you squeamish, you'd better pass.

A/N: Here's 29, there's a bit of slurring in parts, so just go limp and pretend you're drunk, it's easier to understand.

Smoke and Mirrors 29

Aragorn held the small body next to his, grateful that the slender limbs had ceased their thrashing. In the background, the sound of weeping could be heard, but all else was now quiet. Slowly, he moved Frodo to the copper tub that Saleth had prepared, lowering the hobbit gently into it. He began to slowly move the scented soap over the sweaty curls and wash the blood from the small hands. Another pair of hands, significantly smaller than his, appeared opposite him and reverently, sponged the soap over the body of his cousin. Aragorn looked up into the grieving face. Merry's eyes had a haunted, glassy look to them.

"It was not your fault, Merry," said the King softly.

Merry's look of anguish mixed with anger startled the former ranger. "Not my fault? I'd like to know whose fault it was then?" he fairly spat the reply. "What did I do to him? How will he ever forgive me? And what will Sam think when he finds out that Frodo couldn't even be left in my care for one moment without me traumatizing him so?” A pause. “However shall I live with what I have done?" he sobbed. Aragorn looked at Merry with pity.

"I have seen this before in soldiers on the battlefield. Suddenly they become overwhelmed by some memory of a previous trauma. It is as if they are reliving that memory, and those around them are helpless to console them. It can be triggered by the simplest of things but it is generally not remembered afterwards as anything other than a waking dream. It is likely Frodo will not remember what happened. As to Sam, I would not tell him, unless you feel you must," said Aragorn.

"Not tell him?" asked Merry, incredulously.

"No, he will only fret over his Master all the more and to what end? If Frodo does not recall the incident, and Sam is told, he will no doubt, tell Frodo about it. You know Sam, he cannot keep a secret, especially from Frodo." Merry smiled slightly and nodded. "If Frodo cannot remember and Sam reveals what happened, this will only upset Frodo all the more; knowing that we have been witness to a side of him that he wishes kept secret."

"But what of his hand, how do we explain the cuts and bruises he will have?" asked Merry.

"Be creative, Merry. Say he fell out of bed while you were tickling him," said Aragorn.

"You mean lie." Aragorn grimaced but nodded. "I do not feel comfortable with this deception. I feel like I am just trying to cover my own foolishness by making up a story," Merry said softly.

"If Frodo remembers, then, of course, it will not be necessary for the deception, Merry. But if Frodo does not remember, would you really tell him what transpired this day? Imagine if you were Frodo, how would you react to such news?" asked Aragorn gently.

Merry thought about that. "I would be devastated. Especially knowing my cousin and how private he is with his feelings and remembrances of the quest. I would feel like my soul had been bared for all to see," said Merry slowly.

"I agree, Merry. What we need to do is get Frodo to talk of his experiences. I realize it will be difficult, but if he does not confront his demons, they will destroy him," he looked up into Merry's eyes. "They will destroy what peace is left in his life, Merry. You must do this. You are singularly and uniquely qualified to be his confidante. You have dealt with the Witch King and experienced the trauma and torture of the orcs." Merry paled noticeably and drew in a slow shaky breath. "I am sorry, my friend. I did not mean to be so blunt," Aragorn apologized. "But witnessing your reaction just now has made me even more sure of my belief that you and Frodo both, have issues that need to be discussed."

Merry swallowed hard, "I will try, Strider."

"That is all anyone could ask," he said with a smile. "Now, let's get Frodo out of this tub and his wounds dressed before he gets too pruney," he chuckled.

Merry smiled. "He is getting rather wrinkled, I'd say."

Aragorn lifted Frodo, wrapped him in toweling and carried him to the bed. The linens had been changed while he was bathed and now he was bundled into the clean sheets and blankets until little more than his pale face was visible upon the pillows. Merry pulled up the counterpane and crawled up on the bed. He sat beside Frodo as Aragorn began arranging a tray of implements to stitch up the gash on the palm of Frodo's hand. He removed the bloody bandage from the right hand and bent over the palm, examining the cut. "About ten stitches," he murmured to himself. He dabbed at the wound with a cloth dipped in warm athelas water, dried it and then threaded a curved needle with a fine horsehair.

"Will this not hurt him?" asked Merry, nervously.

"I gave him a sizable portion of Valerian Root paste, I doubt he will feel much," answered Aragorn. He bent and made the first stitch. Frodo flinched slightly, but other than that, lay quiet. After the palm was stitched, Aragorn dabbed at the stitches with another athelas cloth, applied a balm and began examining the amputated ring finger. Satisfied that it was healing well and had not been re-injured in the fracas, he readied the hand in clean gauze.

"How long will he sleep, do you think, Strider?" asked Merry.

"It is hard to say. He will be sore and very tired, he used a lot of his energy struggling. He could awaken anytime due to hunger or thirst, but will be too exhausted to do much more than that." Aragorn looked over at Merry, "You must be prepared for his questions, just in case, but I am certain he will remember nothing of the experience. These phantasms that haunt him and yourself, must be brought out and spoken of, Merry, if you or Frodo are ever to truly heal." Aragorn said firmly.

"I understand, Strider, but what you ask is not an easy thing," Merry's voice quavered as his eyes met the King's.

"I understand. I do not envy either of you in this undertaking, but it is necessary or neither of you will truly be at peace again. I also can think of few other that are as strong as you and your cousin, and I know that you will be able to recover," said Aragorn with compassion.

Merry gave Aragorn a tiny smile then turned to look at Frodo. Crystal blue eyes were staring back at him. "Wha' won't be easy thing, Merry?" he asked in a low, slurred voice.

"Frodo. You startled me, cousin. We thought you would sleep all day, you lazy hobbit," exclaimed a surprised Merry.

Frodo smiled slowly and turned his gaze on Aragorn, "Have I been ill, Strider or are you jess vissiting an old hobbit?" he asked drunkenly.

"A little of both, my dear friend," grinned Aragorn at the groggy Ringbearer. "You took a tumble from the bed and I had to stitch your palm..."

"He took a WHAT?" Sam was standing in the doorway with a new tray, which he almost dropped in his haste to get to Frodo's bedside. "What 'ave you done to 'em, you crazy Brandybuck?" he said looking over the form of his Master.

Merry gulped and recoiled at the comment that hit too close to the mark in Merry's mind. Hadn't he done this after all? Caused this added grief for his cousin?

"Sam," Frodo smiled weakly. "I hamm fine. I *am* quite hungry, however, so calmm yourseff and come oer here," his words slipped and slurred as he tried to divert the gardener from brutally attacking Merry. He was feeling very dizzy and disoriented. He had caught the look on Merry's face at Sam's rebuke and felt there was more going on here than what was being said. It was not normal for his cousin to flinch at one of Sam's barbs. In fact, Merry would have jested or turned the situation around, normally, ending up embarrassing Sam in some way or another. Frodo tried to focus on Merry and worried at this change in him.

"Merry was giving Frodo, here quite the tickling, I hear...." started Aragorn.

"You WHAT?" Sam was livid. Merry flinched back from the wrath he could almost feel coming in waves off of the gardener. "You KNOW he's not himself yet, how could ya be so...so...brainless!" Sam stammered.

"Sam you should've heard him. He was giggling and laughing. A *real* laugh, like when we were lads. It was a wonderful thing to hear," Merry explained.

Sam's face relaxed a bit. He felt a sudden, desperate loss. He would have given anything to have been there to hear his Master's clear, sweet laughter like when they had been young.

"Sam, he is fine, but in his exuberance, Frodo fell out of the bed and cut his hand on this knife that was left on the tray," Aragorn finished with a quick surreptitious glance at Merry. Frodo's eyes had been glassy, fixed on Aragorn's eyes. He felt a sudden jolt of wakefulness as he saw the ranger send a meaningful glance at Merry. Something felt wrong. Something was not being said. He tried to concentrate, but his mind was a fog, his thoughts floating away before they could achieve cohesiveness. He slowly raised his hand to his head to try to clear his thoughts. His head pounded and then there was the dizziness. He closed his eyes trying to stem the swirling of the room, and strange nightmarish thoughts that seemed to lie at the back of his mind. He watched Sam, Merry and Aragorn speaking, but they seemed to be speaking very, very slowly and he was having a hard time focusing on their conversation. "...all right?....Frodo a... ight? "Frodo, are you all right?" Aragorn was asking him.

"Just a bit of a headache. I feel odd...drugged," he said slowly.

"We had to give you a heavy sedative in order to stitch up your wound, I'm afraid. It should wear off by morning," Aragorn said, reassuringly, but he looked worried, his eyebrows knit together.

"Ssamm?" he slurred.

"Yes, Mr. Frodo?" Sam took his Master's hand.

"Tell mee what you have brought for my meal?" he asked with a tipsy smile.  
Aragorn smiled at Frodo, thankful for the change in subject. Frodo smiled back, a questioning look on his face. Aragorn simply gave a quick nod at this and pulled Frodo up slowly into a sitting position, propping pillows around him, so he could partake of his meal.

"Well, let's just see here. I brought you a bit more o' that porridge with that syrup, more custard with o' bit of nutmeg and cinnamon, carrot juice...you have to try it, Mr. Frodo, it's so cool and sweet...and some applesauce with honey and cinnamon, and oh, oh... a nice piece of blueberry tart baked special for you by them Gondorian chefs, Mr. Frodo..." Frodo watched Sam with increasing amusement, as the gardener proudly described each item that he had hand picked for Frodo's particular tastes.

"Sam...Sam...I can't possily eat all of dis," Frodo chuckled. " Yoo've ou' done yoorseff, as usual," he said laughing at how even he could barely understand what he was trying to say. A wave of giggles suddenly overwhelmed him, but then he lay back panting at the sudden fatigue that washed over him. Sam looked at him worriedly. "I'm all right, Sam....just very relaxed sss all. Shall we then?" he gestured towards the tray, giggling again.

Sam's eyes lit up with delight hearing the musical sound. "O' course, Mr. Frodo. Now, you understand this ain’t a proper meal for a healthy hobbit, but I wanted to see if I could tempt you, if you take my meanin', sir" Sam blushed.

"I do indeed, my friend. Le me see...I believe I'll try a lill carrot juice first and if that sellils well, I wouldn't mind a taste of that bloobewwy tar', " said Frodo as his eyes roved over the feast. The carrot juice was a delight going down his parched throat, cool and refreshing. Before he realized it, he had drank it all, with Sam's help. " Delissus, Sam, as you said," he commented. Next, was a bite of the tart. Frodo held it in his mouth for a bit savoring the sweetness of the juicy berries. It had been sometime since he'd had anything that truly needed chewing, but he managed the light crust as it almost melt in his mouth. "Verwy tassty, Sam, but juss the bloo bewwies thsss time," he whispered. While the crust had been wonderful, he didn't want to chew or swallow anything solid just yet.

"That's fine, Mr. Frodo. You're almost eatin' like yourself again, and indeed, it does my heart good to see it, sir." said Sam. His voice quavered and there were tears in his eyes.

Frodo felt a wave of emotion that of all the people who loved and cared for him the most, his illness had probably been the hardest for this devoted hobbit, his dearest friend. He felt his eyes grow moist. He was determined to eat as much as he could to make Sam happy. He found he was famished even though he had eaten that morning, so the task did not seem too hard to accomplish. The thought confused him. He *had* eaten this morning, hadn't he? He felt so tired, his body ached and his head pounded as it hung down slightly towards his chest. 'Why do I feel so horrible? I should have more energy than this, but I feel so weak,' he thought to himself. 'I must have fallen quite hard to feel so worn.'

He swiveled his head towards Sam, reaching up to wipe away a stray tear on the gardener's face. "'Ssssall right, Sam... I'm all right, you'll ssee." Frodo smiled, which caused Sam to smile with renewed hope. "Less try tha' powidge once again, Ssam," he said. Sam's eyes lit up.

"Comin' right up, sir," Sam was delighted at this increase in appetite and made a mental note to make the portions larger on the next tray. He spooned the porridge slowly into Frodo's mouth. Frodo loved the taste of the maple syrup, but found despite his best intentions he was becoming full and increasingly lethargic. He managed to finish the porridge, but had to struggle on the last few bites. He motioned to Sam that he could eat no more. Sam still looked radiantly happy at what had been consumed and didn't even try to coax him into sampling the custard or applesauce.

"Nesst time, Ssam, I'll try the other disshes firss, but now I'm near to essploding .. so full," Frodo said with a tired smile. The meal *had* tasted good, and seemed to be settling well on his sensitive stomach.

"No need to make yourself uncomfortable, Master. I know you're jes' gettin' back to yourself. It takes time to get back to eatin' right, don't it Mr. Aragorn, sir?" Sam smiled at Aragorn.

"Very true, Sam. I am most impressed with your skills. We were beside ourselves before Sam came along, as to what might taste good to you, Frodo," Aragorn grinned widely at Sam. Sam beamed at the praise.

"Well, I best take these dishes back to the kitchen, but I'll be back in a moment, Mr. Frodo," Sam said. He hummed to himself happily as he gathered the dishes from the morning and afternoon meals. When he came upon the knife, covered in blood, he stopped short. His eyes widened and he quickly looked up at Aragorn. "Is this what Mr. Frodo grabbed as he fell from the bed, Strider?" he asked slowly.

"Yes Sam, why do you ask?"

Sam's eyes filled with tears. "It's all my fault you cut yourself, Mr. Frodo. I am a ninnyhammer leavin' such a thing jes' lyin' about," he cursed at himself.

"Nonsesse Sam, it was no ones fault, it was juss a fooliss accident and I won't have you blaminn yourselff." Frodo's eyes closed on there own volition, he was so tired.

Merry looked down at his hands lying in his lap. Listening to Sam berate himself when it had been he who had caused the 'accident' was almost more than he could bear. Aragorn caught his eye and gave him a small, reassuring smile.

"Samwise Gamgee." Sam looked up at Frodo, his eyes filled with grief as he looked into Frodo's smiling face. "I'll nott 'ave yoou talk about my bess friend like that," Frodo finished quietly.

"Yes, Mr. Frodo, sir. I'm right sorry if I upset you," Sam said quietly and giving him a small smile, turned with the dishes and left the room. They could hear him humming as he walked down the hall towards the kitchens.

"Frodo, you are exhausted. I believe you should rest some more. You as well, Master Brandybuck. It has been a trying morning for both of you," said Aragorn as he rose.

"No, Aragorn." Frodo reached out and stayed the King with a hand on his arm. He locked eyes with the King and then with Merry. "I think there'ss sa tale to be told here, and I *do* love a good story," he said seriously. Merry paled and started to tremble. Frodo saw this and reached over to him in concern. "Merry, love, what has happened to make you so sad? Tell me," asked Frodo quietly.

Aragorn stood tensely waiting for Merry to speak.

"It was all my fault, Frodo. I hurt you, and I shall never forgive myself," Merry sobbed.

Frodo pulled Merry to him and looked up at Aragorn. "I believe an essplanation 'snn order, my Liege," Frodo said slowly, his eyes drooping.

TBC


	30. Chapter 30

Disclaimer: All characters and places depicted are the sole property of the JRR Tolkien Estate, my only claim to fame is this small piece of fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Medical Disclaimer: While extensive research has been done, none of the cures or procedures depicted in this story should be used without first consulting a medical professional. Also, there may be graphic medical details and wee hobbit behinds in this chapter, so if that makes you squeamish, you'd better pass.

A/N: I just wanted to say, you have all been so wonderful in your reviews and seem to genuinely enjoy the fic. I can't tell you how much this means to me. The story is on its last legs....couple more chapters and I will be putting it to bed, and wanted you to know how much fun and enjoyment I have had writing and hearing from you all.

There's a bit of slurring in parts, so just go limp and pretend you're drunk, it's easier to understand.

Chapter 30

"Frodo, you really should rest," said Aragorn softly.

"Wha hass usset him so, Striyer?" Frodo slurred.

"You fell asleep, Frodo, while I was giving you your massage," Merry volunteered. He looked quickly up at Aragorn, who nodded with a grim smile. "You had a nightmare," continued Merry. Frodo's eyes opened a little wider, he swallowed hard.

"Wha' happened? Did I say anything?" he asked tremulously, looking into Merry's eyes.

Merry was shocked at the pain he saw there. Frodo did not want anyone to see the agony he suffered each day, Merry realized. He felt a sudden rush of sadness and anger. "Why does it matter, cousin? Why do you struggle so to keep this horror to yourself? We are not children anymore, Frodo. You do not need to protect us, as you once did," he said firmly.

"Mer...you don'..unnerstann..."Frodo began. His eyes misted over in sudden grief.

"I would if you would but trust me, cousin. Do you doubt my love for you?" Merry asked fervently.

"No, 'coursse not. How could you thinn sussh a thinng?" Frodo said with obvious agitation.

"Because, my love, you are in pain. This means *I* am in pain, as is Aragorn, Gandalf, Pippin and especially Sam. Is that what you want? Do you want to hurt us, even more than we have all ready been hurt? You may feel that by suffering alone, keeping these nightmares to yourself, that you are protecting us, Frodo. But you are not. Each of us has suffered much, you may not know this because you are so caught up in your own little world of agony. Did you know that we see your pain and understand it better than you will ever know? That each of us has our own nightmares? Has it ever occurred to you that we might need someone to talk to about this, as you do?" Merry was breathing hard, and shaking with anger, trying to rouse his cousin into realizing that he was not alone and that a problem shared was a problem halved.

Frodo's face was a portrait of grief and anguish, feeling as if he had been slapped hard by Merry's words. His face was flushed, sweat ran down from his forehead as his breathes came in sobbing gasps. "My fault that you all suffered. I should never have let you come with me," he panted.

"Do you truly believe we would have allowed you to take that journey on your own? That any one of us felt compelled by anything accept love to come with you? If you believe otherwise then you truly don't know just how very much we love and respect you, and that would be like a dagger in my heart if that is the case." Merry took Frodo's weeping face in his hands and forced the hobbit to look into his eyes. "Frodo, each of us would have gladly *died* for you at anytime," he whispered into his cousin's face. Frodo shook his head back and forth in distress. His chest hitched as he sobbed uncontrollably.

"No...no...not you...had ...to...protect..you..didn't want you to come to harm....lose innocence...too young," he gasped.

Merry lovingly ran his hand down the side of Frodo's damp face. "But Frodo, like you, we were helpless to turn away. We fought valiantly, as you did, each doing our part in the war. We survived. Now we need to heal, love. It's time to heal," he said softly.

Frodo continued to weep, "I failed you. I claimed the Ring. You could have all died because of me," he whispered.

"You did what no one else could, Frodo. You carried the ring and it was destroyed."

It was quiet in the room for some moments, save for the gasping sobs of the Ringbearer as he was immersed in the horror of memory. The guilt, the shame and the loss of the One.

Merry took the bottle of oil, warmed it in his hands, and very slowly began to administer a loving massage to Frodo's shaking shoulders. He watched Frodo's face, noting the pain and worry etched there, and sought to bring release merely with a loving touch. "Pippin used to have some really bad nightmares," he said softly. Frodo's blue eyes looked up to meet Merry's. "He would wake me every night thrashing and screaming, and I would go to him and hold him to me. One day, I asked him to tell me of them. What was haunting him so. Do you know what he said?" Frodo slowly shook his head. "He said, 'Why Mer', they are the same dreams that haunt you, I would imagine. But you will not speak of them to me because you think it will frighten me so. So I have not spoken of them with you. I did not want to burden you, when you are all ready burdened.'" Merry's eyes filled with tears. "I was moved by his selflessness and told him that I still wanted to know and in turn, I would tell him of my dreams." Merry smiled at the memory, his eyes taking on a faraway look and he spoke slowly and softly as he added more oil and gently worked it over Frodo's torso and arms. Frodo watched Merry's face in rapt attention, like a child needing to know how the story had ended and that everyone had lived happily ever after. "He told me everything, how helpless and small he had felt, how frightened and lonely. He told me of his battle on the field of Pelennor and of his love for the Steward, Denethor. He had some ....vivid nightmares about the Palantir and the eye of Sauron conversing with him through it. I think that was his worst nightmare. He would wake up screaming about the eye and saying, 'No, no I don't know...' . Then he told me how desperate he had felt when we were parted, each to play their own role in this great war, but how much stronger he had become by the end of all the fighting. He grew up, Frodo. Yes, he lost his innocence to a degree, but he's still our Pip and he's stronger now. He will be the best Thain the Shire will ever know because of what he has seen and done. He became very close to Faramir and even Gandalf. He, nor I, would not have done anything differently with the possible exception of carrying the Ring for you, Frodo." Frodo looked up at Merry with love. "You should not have had to carry this burden alone, Frodo," he said.

"I was not alone, I had Sam." whispered Frodo.

"Yes, and I couldn't think of a better companion for you on that dark journey, my love." said Merry. "But Frodo, you were *still* alone. The Ring was all that filled your thoughts, your dreams, your desires," Merry said this quietly. Frodo gasped at the thought that Merry had seen this, he really *knew* what Frodo had experienced. Merry gave him a sly smile.

"Pip still has nightmares, but they come less and less now and they hold little power over him, as they did before. We talk of them each time and this has made him sturdy, and the dreams insubstantial....just by talking about them," Merry whispered. Aragorn shifted uncomfortably. He had not known of Pippin's dreams and felt ashamed that he had not asked or considered it. He leaned against the wall, hidden slightly by the shadows of early evening that were now filling the room. Blending into the scenery just as he used to when he was Strider, the Ranger. He did not want to interrupt this meeting between two kindred souls by reminding them of his presence. His eyes were damp, remembering the sheer unbound exuberance and joy of Pippin Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck when he had first encountered them in Bree. The Shire, so sheltered, so peaceful, had lost some of that same precociousness and innocence and he felt a sudden pang of loss and regret.

Frodo was gradually becoming more relaxed under Merry's ministrations. But still, a certain tenseness could be seen in his face and frame, as he listened to his cousin's story.

"And what of you, Mer?" Frodo asked quietly. Merry smiled grimly down at his cousin.

"I shared some of the least frightening dreams with Pip, but could not tell him of the truly terrifying nightmares," He smiled weakly, "I think I wanted to help Pip retain as much of the innocence that goes with just being Pip, by protecting him as much as I still could. I have always protected him, just as you have always protected both of us, Frodo. So I could not completely unburden myself to him. I believe he knows this, but has not pushed the issue, knowing that some battles still must be fought alone." Merry grimaced and tears slid silently down his face. Frodo watched this and realized that he knew Merry would understand and not judge his decisions, right or wrong, but look on them with a pure heart as he always had. Could it be possible that he and Merry together, might find some degree of healing? The idea filled Frodo with a mixture of hope and fear. Fear that he would be unable to tell Merry of his ordeals.

"Merry..."Frodo said, barely above a whisper.

"Yes, my love?"

"I would like to hear your stories....your nightmares. Would you talk to me?" he asked shyly.

"Yes, cousin. I think you, perhaps, would understand better than anyone the things I dream of," and Merry looked into Frodo's anxious blue eyes," but it is to be a mutual sharing, Frodo. If you will not share your deepest fears, your guilt's, your demons with your Mer' then I will not tell you of my own demons. And I will warn you now that should my dreams continue unchecked, that I will eventually cease to be Merry Brandybuck. That these nightmares will rule me not only in my sleep, but my days as well, and I will, eventually, be unable to cope with my life. I will slowly go insane, Frodo. This I know. I fear the same fate for you, cousin. If the darkest, most horrific of your memories are not spoken of, slowly your soul will be consumed and you will cease to be that person that we love so very much. You will cease to be Frodo Baggins of the Shire. It will be a difficult and long process, but I am willing if you are," He held his breath, worried he had gone too far, and hoping that Frodo would see the truth in his words.

Frodo looked very frightened, "I don't know if I can, Merry. I keep things tied up inside...I have since I was very small..."

Merry smiled, "Yes, Frodo you have always been the worrier, the thinker and the strong one. Try not to over analyze so much. If you feel comfortable with me listening you should be able to tell me small things at first. The we will work our way up to the larger things."

"Will you go first, Mer?' Frodo asked in a small voice, looking very nervous.

"Yes, my love. One step at a time, we will conquer these evils. And Frodo?" Frodo looked up at him.

"Yes, Mer'?"

"If we do not do this you realize that Sauron and the Ring will have won the final battle after all."

Frodo looked distressed. "The Ring...the Ring...it has already taken so much of who I was. I wanted to die when I was separated from it, when Gollum took it. I almost did." He had turned his face away, staring far off in the distance of memory. "I almost jumped. I didn't believe I could live without it, so entwined was it about my soul."

Merry swallowed hard, his voice quavered slightly as he spoke, "But you didn't jump, Frodo. You survived, my dear. It may have taken a small part of you, but the rest is in here," he placed his warm hand on Frodo's chest and Frodo looked up at him, "and in here." Merry touched his own heart. "It is not the end, it is a new beginning. We will nourish and feed and love the soul of my dear cousin until it is whole once more," Merry smiled, and this time, to Merry's delight, Frodo smiled wanly in return.

Aragorn quietly stepped to the bedside of his good friend. He put one hand on Frodo's chest and then felt his pulse. His breathing and pulse were still too fast but were slowing. "It has been a hard day for you both, and I would have you sleep a dreamless sleep. He found the Valerian paste on the sideboard, "Frodo I want you to place this under your tongue. It will give you the rest you need. When you awaken, Sam will bring you a meal and then Merry and you can begin your lessons," said Aragorn quietly.

"Lessons, Strider? What lessons?" asked Frodo drowsily.

"Lessons in recovery, my dear hobbit. I expect you both to be scholars by weeks end, with any luck," Aragorn smiled. He first gave Frodo a large draught of chamomile tea, then placed the paste under his tongue. Almost immediately, the blue eyes began slipping slowly closed. "Don't fight it, Frodo," he said as he gently caressed the pale face, "be at peace," he whispered. Merry watched as Frodo slowly succumb to exhaustion. Aragorn then turned to him. "Now, Merry, you will rest also."

"No, Strider, I am fine, really," objected Merry. Strider smiled ruefully, and handed him a cup of chamomile tea. "At least drink this, my friend," he said quietly. He watched as Merry gratefully accepted the tea.

"You have done much today," he lay Merry down next to Frodo's prone form, "You should at least nap for a bit..." he continued. Merry began to feel groggy as the ranger spoke in a low, monotone. The room about him, began to blur. His eyes began to close of their own accord. He tried to stay awake, but found his limbs would not respond to his commands.

"You tricked me, Strider.....Strider?" he whispered groggily.

"Be calm, Merry. It is for your own good, and for Frodo's good. You will need all of your strength and resources these next days," he murmured as he gently stroked the curls off of Merry's forehead. The last thing either hobbit heard before drifting into sweet oblivion was a murmured "blessed Eru protect you, be at peace."

 

TBC


	31. Chapter 31

Disclaimer: All characters and places depicted are the sole property of the JRR Tolkien Estate, my only claim to fame is this small piece of fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Medical Disclaimer: While extensive research has been done, none of the cures or procedures depicted in this story should be used without first consulting a medical professional. Also, there may be graphic medical details and wee hobbit behinds in this chapter, so if that makes you squeamish, you'd better pass.

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 31

The tinkling of dishes and soft footsteps awoke Merry first. He felt remarkably refreshed and wondered how long he had slept. He turned his head and looked at Frodo lying beside him. A look of peace filled his cousin's face. Perhaps their talk had already had some calming effect on him. Sam sat by the bed and took Frodo's left hand in his, placing a gentle kiss on the wrist. "Is he better, Mr. Merry? He seems to be quite calm and looks so peaceful, like an elf, if you take my meaning, sir."

"I think he is better, Sam and please just call me Merry. We've been friends far too long, and through too much to be so formal," said Merry with a smile.

Sam blushed and looked down. "If that is your wish, Mr.....err...Merry." Merry smiled.

"So what have you brought this time for our charge?" Merry asked.

"Well, I know as how Mr. Frodo didn't want any meats so I've brought him some eggs scrambled with cream and butter, just like he likes. And applesauce, since he didn't taste that last time, with cinnamon and nutmeg; a glass of fresh milk, some fresh baked peaches and cherries in a heavy glaze with clotted cream on top...and, let's see...some toast squares baked with honey and cinnamon on top. I also brought one small flapjack with that maple syrup and butter, that they like so much here. Merry's mouth watered at the wonderful smells that assaulted his senses. Sam noticed this with a grin, "Sorry, Mr. Merry, but this tray is just for Mr. Frodo. But I did see them preparin' a tray or two for Mr. Pippin."

Merry's eyes lit up, "Well, I suppose I should go help Pip eat it then, eh?" Sam smiled.

"How is an old hobbit to rest with all this delicious talk of food going on?" came a muffled query.

"Mr. Frodo! 'So glad you could join us, sir. I've brought you your meal, sir. And them chefs near out did themselves once again, hearin' it were for you."

Frodo smiled sleepily. "It *does* smell wonderful. I suppose I could try a little," he smiled nervously, hoping once again that Sam didn't expect too much of the food to disappear. Merry helped Sam reposition Frodo up on three fluffy pillows and Sam set the tray across his lap. Frodo drank the milk first, eyeing the other dainties as he did so. "How about a bite of that pancake, Sam?" Sam forked a small piece and brought it, dribbling with butter and syrup, up to Frodo's mouth. "Hmmm...very tasty," mumbled Frodo. "It just melts in my mouth. Sam, you have some too. Please, join me."

Sam looked uncomfortable, "Maybe just a wee bite, Mr. Frodo. You need to eat more 'en I do, sir. Sam too, was amazed at how light and sweet the pancake tasted. Next, he picked up a spoon and began serving applesauce to his Master.

"Hmmm, more please, Sam." Frodo loved apples more than any other fruit and this sauce was the best he had ever tasted. "How do they make it so smooth, I wonder?" he said.

Sam smiled. "I'm not right sure, sir but there's no doubt they have their ways of making food a special thing."

"You two are making me drool all over myself. I'm off to share a meal with Pip, but afterwards, I'll be back, all right Frodo?" Merry gave Frodo a knowing look.

Frodo looked slightly uneasy, knowing what was to come. "All right, Merry," he said softly. "Thanks, for everything," he added. Merry just grinned impishly, and then was gone out the door, heading towards Pip's room.

Frodo ate all of the applesauce, three or four bites of the eggs, most of the toast with cinnamon and a few more bites of the pancake, before pushing the tray towards Sam. "I can't. No more, Sam. It's too much." Sam looked at the tray, and thought it was hardly a fit meal for a hobbit, but he was quite happy to note that Mr. Frodo had eaten more than last time.

"You did right fine, sir. It's good to see you eatin' again," he smiled.

Frodo smiled sleepily, "It *did* taste good, as well. I feared I'd never be able to taste or enjoy food again after our journey."

"I know what ya mean, sir. It took me awhile meself, near on a couple 'o days at least, to be able to eat a regular like hobbit meal," Sam said seriously. Frodo smiled widely picturing the normal depth and breadth of a 'regular' hobbit meal.

The door swung in slowly and Aragorn entered. "How are you feeling, Frodo?" he asked quietly.

"I feel fine, Aragorn. I slept well and Sam and I have just finished a glorious meal," he smiled wanly.

Aragorn looked over the refuse of the luncheon. "It looks as if you're appetite is improving, but do try the peaches in clotted cream next time, they are quite good," he smiled.

Frodo groaned, "Oh, I am so full, don't speak of it now, please. Yes, next time they will be my first thing to taste."

"How would you like to get out of your sickroom for a little walk?" asked Aragorn.

Frodo's face lit up. "Could we? I should love that. This room feels more like a cage at times. When can we go?" he asked excitedly as he struggled to sit up. His arms trembled violently from lack of use, but he was determined to show Aragorn that he was more than fit enough to earn a small walk. A fine sheen of sweat broke out on his upper lip as he tried to swing his legs over the edge of the bed. The struggle proved to be too much and he collapsed back onto the pillows, panting. He shot a frustrated glance at Aragorn and Sam thinking that they would surely deny him the promised stroll due to his body's weakness.

Aragorn smiled. "Easy, my friend. I would be honored to carry you until such time as you can walk yourself." He wrapped Frodo in a thick quilt and lifted him so that he sat on the King's hip. "All right Frodo? Dizzy at all?" he asked.

"Just a little, I'm fine, but where are we going?" Frodo asked with a smile.

"Not far. I have some friends I would like you to meet and they you," Aragorn answered cryptically.

"So mysterious," smiled Frodo. Sam looked up at him with a smile. "Sam, you will join us, won't you?" Frodo asked, looking up at Aragorn.

Sam blushed. "If it's all right with Mr. Strider, sir" he said softly.

"Of course it is, Sam. This concerns you as well as Frodo. Follow me," replied the King.

They proceeded out of the room and down the hallway, Frodo looking around as they went. They passed many doorways that opened onto rooms full of the wounded. He could see healers busily attending to their needs. After a few moments, they stopped at a closed door and paused.

"Frodo, this is the first of your lessons," Aragorn said with a small smile.

Frodo frowned slightly, suddenly wondering if he was up to this unknown challenge. "Aragorn perhaps I should return to my room. I find, for some reason, that I fear to open this door---should I or is that feeling misplaced?" his voice quavered.

Aragorn smiled grimly. "Much of what you will see is grievous for the gravely injured lie behind this door. But they are healing and have asked that they might meet with you. You have nothing to fear, my friend, for I and Sam are with you. Those in this room would die to protect you, as well. I ask only that you listen to them and hear what they have to say. This lesson will be for you to learn how to accept gratitude and to realize that, even though you *thought* you failed in you're quest by claiming the Ring, that you are gravely mistaken. You succeeded. You bore the burden and the Ring was destroyed, it matters not how it was accomplished. You alone have carried this burden. You need to realize how you and Sam have affected lives all around you," Aragorn spoke earnestly.

Frodo's eyes misted over. Sam looked up at his Master. "It's true, Mr. Frodo. The quest would never have even begun without you to carry the Ring. You truly *are* a hero, you must see that and stop torturing yourself," tears ran down Sam's face as he plead with his Master.

Frodo wiped his face and sobbed softly into Aragorn's shoulder. "I have felt such guilt, such despair. How can I ever forgive myself?" he gasped.

"You must, for you endured longer than any other, the pull of the Ring. All others would have fallen long before you did. Now, you must cry your last for that foul jewel and admit that you succeeded. The outcome was the same, even if it was achieved in a different way than what you had expected," said Aragorn. He needed to convince Frodo that he was honorable, that Gollum had also played a part, but without Frodo the Ring would never have made it to Mount Doom at all.

Frodo wiped his face again. "I will try, Aragorn," he said quietly.

Aragorn smiled and nodded. Sam reached up and squeezed Frodo's foot, a smile lighting his face. Aragorn pushed the door open. They were greeted by a cacophony of voices talking all at once. Some were of the injured with voices filled with pain, some of sadness and grieving and others of family members speaking of family and events happening outside the confines of the sickroom. The room was a long corridor, well lit, with clean white stone walls and flooring. Frodo looked about. Rows of injured lined both long walls. Healers and orderlies moved smoothly from bed to bed. Almost all had a loved one, wives, sisters or other kin, at their bedsides. A sudden calm descended on the room as the occupants noticed the King and the hobbits. Those that were able, bowed low. Frodo thought they bowed in deference to the King, but noticed that their eyes were on he and Sam, and the bows were accompanied by whispers of 'gracious one' and 'savior of Middle Earth.' All throughout the room could be heard hushed exclamations of adoration and worship attached to his name, or 'the Ringbearer'.

They stopped at the first bed where an elderly man lay, his wife rose from beside his side and knelt before Frodo. Her eyes were full of tears as she reached up and clasped his left hand gently. She brought it to her lips and kissed it lightly. "My husband was with Lord Aragorn at the Gates of Mordor when the Ring was destroyed; a feat that could not have been accomplished without you, small one. He would have been lost to me, as would we all, if not for you," she whispered. "You have my allegiance."

Frodo looked down at the woman and whispered, "The King alone deserves fealty, my lady, but I am honored and humbled by the service you give me," his eyes were damp as he gave her a small, uncertain smile. She moved back to her husband's side as Aragorn took Frodo to the next bed.

A young girl sat beside an even younger boy. As the Ringbearer and Sam approached she bowed low and then rose. She bestowed a light kiss on both Frodo and Sam's foreheads. "My brother and I live in Osgiliath. We were under siege by the orcs and the Nazgul. Our parents were killed," her voice quavered. Frodo reached out and placed his hand on her shoulder in an act of condolence. She smiled up at him and placed her hand over his small one. "We hid. Then suddenly the Nazgul turned and fled, the orcs were confused and our remaining soldiers were able to regroup and finish them off, my brother was injured in the squirmish."

"But he is so young, how could he fight?" asked Frodo, looking down at the pale face of the lad that lay on the bed.

"He is only twelve summers, but was determined to fight in honor of our parents," she whispered.

"Will he be all right, Aragorn?"

"Yes, Frodo. He is recovering nicely."

"You saved us, Ringbearer, We were being annihilated. The orcs were determined to kill every one of us. We watched helplessly, as whole families, even newborn babes, were killed with nothing short of glee," she sobbed. "If not for you, we would not have seen another day." She squeezed his hand again and sat down by her brother. They proceeded down the line then back up the other side of the room. Frodo and Sam spoke with each patient or family member and heard heart rending story after story. Most filled with deeds of great valor, courage and sacrifice. All were told to Frodo with worshipful eyes, wet faces and oaths of loyalty to Frodo and his kin. One soldier had been speared by a troll, but had managed to roll out of the way, as the troll had fallen over and mysteriously died. Later he had learned that with the destruction of the Ring, many of the monstrous beasts could not survive and had perished. Another had been surrounded by orcs and knew his death was eminent. When the Ring was destroyed, the orcs had stood about in confusion allowing the soldier to kill all of them without receiving more than flesh wounds to himself. Many of the stories were of peasants or civilians that had run or hidden from the enemy only to be found and surrounded. The orcs had been set on raping and torture and then slaughter of their captives, when they had stopped, hesitated and walked aimlessly away, allowing the prisoners to flee. Each person sobbed and kissed the hand of Frodo and Sam, giving heartfelt thanks and gratitude. So moved by the overwhelming feelings of love that issued from all within the room, they were frequently moved to tears. Many times they embraced or touched the injured and their families as they were drawn into the tragedy of injury and death or the miracle of salvation. When they left the room, all inside smiled their good-byes and whispers of devotion followed them into the hallway.

Frodo slumped against Aragorn in total exhaustion. His body trembled as he clutched at the King's tunic. "Frodo, are you unwell?" asked Aragorn looking at his friend with deep concern.

"All those people...so thankful...so gracious.. to *me*, of all people," he could barely be heard as he whispered through his fatigue.

"Yes, Frodo. You *are* our savior and hero, as is Sam. I, and the rest of the Fellowship, are not the only ones who feel this way. It is time for you to see this goodness, this strong and determined love of all the people's in Middle Earth, that motivated you to, unselfishly, give so much of yourself to save so many." Frodo smiled wanly. "But now, you are exhausted and must rest," said Aragorn softly and carried Frodo to his room, placing him on the newly changed bedding and covering him with the counterpane. Sam climbed up and lay down next to him, placing his arm protectively across his Master. Aragorn absently combed his fingers through Frodo's curls as he looked into the half closed blue eyes. "What have you learned from your first lesson, Frodo?" he asked.

Frodo struggled to keep his eyes open. He smiled slowly, "How one or two people perhaps...perhaps...*can* make a difference." He then lost his battle with fatigue and slipped into an exhausted sleep.

Aragorn smiled, "Then I would say, our first lesson has been a success, my dear friend." He looked over at Sam and saw that he was already asleep, snoring softly. He rose and walked to the door. He blew out the lamp and paused looking back at his dear friends, the Ringbearers. He smiled, at the look of peace on their small faces. He left the room with a feeling of joy and satisfaction, pulling the door closed behind him.

 

TBC


	32. Chapter 32

PLEASE HEED WARNINGS!  
WARNING: This chapter contains explicit details of torture and innuendo of rape, please read at your own risk.

Disclaimer: All characters and places depicted are the sole property of the JRR Tolkien Estate, my only claim to fame is this small piece of fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Medical Disclaimer: While extensive research has been done, none of the cures or procedures depicted in this story should be used without first consulting a medical professional. Also, there may be graphic medical details and wee hobbit behinds in this chapter, so if that makes you squeamish, you'd better pass.

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 32/?

 

He was so cold. His body ached with the sheer magnitude of the cold, so much so that he thought perhaps the fire had gone out or that he had fallen from the bed and now lay on the frozen stones of his room. He looked down at himself and gasped. He was naked, filthy and bound. Cuts and scrapes covered his body. Whip marks and lashes zigzagged across his legs and feet. He shuddered, clinching his teeth. 'Not real...this is NOT real. I am dreaming again. I *cannot* be here again'. 'Wait...' his eyes snapped open, 'if I've been here before, if I *know* what is to happen....'he shuddered and gulped, 'then it *must* be a dream, and only a dream.' But a small voice inside his head whispered 'perhaps it is not...perhaps the other...the other is the dream, and this is your true fate...to suffer at their hands....to feel them pawing and pressing upon you...to smell the fetid stink of their flesh...and endure the fiery pain... perhaps *that* is your reality.'

'NO,' Frodo argued. 'No, that cannot be! I saw them, spoke with them...Gandalf, Merry, Pip, Aragorn, Sam...all of them. This is not real,' he said and set his jaw firmly.  
'Perhaps not, gentlehobbit of the Shire, but it is real enough, is it not?' the voice whispered. ' The despair and degradation, the self loathing, the agony ....it is all real enough for you, Ringbearer.'

Frodo sobbed. 'No, this has to end. I cannot bear it any longer.' He looked up into the leering faces of the orcs as they moved closer and surrounded his frail form.

"He's to be unspoiled, it is the Master's wish," growled Lugburz, the apparent leader. He leered down at Frodo, licking his lips. His breath broke over Frodo's face and it took everything in Frodo's power not to retch. "If anyone is to taste of this rat's flesh, it's gonna be me," he grinned lecherously. "But le's see if we can't stretch it outta bit, eh?" He grabbed Frodo by the hair and slapped him back and forth across the face, "Where is it you slime rat?" he yelled into Frodo's face.

"I have nothing. You have taken everything....everything," his eyes became unfocused and he swallowed tightly. The Ring, his beloved Ring, was gone. Who could have known how deeply he would feel the loss. He was dragged across the room, shackles were placed on his wrists and he was yanked up into the air and left to dangle in front of his tormentors.

"We knows better'n dat. Da Master wants wutz hiz and you be tellin or you be screamin'! Maybe a bit o' both, " whined Snaga. He brought the whip up and down it came, how many times, Frodo lost count. Frodo screamed as his back burned in agony.

"I know nothing, I haven't got what you seek," he screamed. But they continued, laughing as he writhed and arched each time the lash crossed his small back.

"I cin get it outta 'em. Let me give it a go, Lugburz." leered Snaga. "Whippin' and burnin' his skin and even the kickin' aint doin' it ....I have sumpin' better'n mind... it won' leave a mark an it'll be fun ta boot," he licked his lips.

Lugburz grinned. "Nar...only if I gets first licks. Then the whole of ya cin 'ave him. He aint gonna say nuttin', are ya rat?" He grabbed Frodo's head and jerked it up. Frodo began sobbing, his breathes coming in rapid gasps, knowing what was to come next. He could not go through this again. 'It's just a dream...just a dream...not real' , he repeated to himself, like a litany, hoping he would awaken soon and find himself anywhere but this dreaded, hateful place.

'if it's a dream, you can wake up....wakeup Frodo....wake up...put up a fight...scream....don't just lie there....you must fight' the voice whispered with urgency.

Lugburz grabbed him from the shackles, roughly removing them from his bruised wrists, and threw him on the filthy floor. Frodo tried to scurry away but was quickly grabbed by his ankles. A heavy kick was delivered to his right side and he pulled his body in on itself trying to draw breath. He felt himself being lifted up by the hair and was thrown, stomach first, onto a table. "Oh no...nononononononono not again," he sobbed to himself. The group moved around the table, all different kinds of orcs, cheering Lugburz on and betting on how long it would take for the hobbit to lose consciousness and be forced to swallow the grog.

SAM! HELP ME! SAM! SAM!!! " he screamed, becoming hysterical. He knew what was coming, he needed someone to stop this torture, this breaking, not only of his body but of his mind. "SAM!" he screeched. He felt grimy, filthy claws being raked over his skin, orcs licking their lips and yelling and laughing excitedly to each other about what they could do to one so fair....as Lugburz moved in for the kill. Then the horrible agony assaulted his body. Pain pinning him like a butterfly in one of Bilbo's collections. He screamed and retched. He screamed until his voice was spent and still it went on , orc after orc until he stared with unseeing eyes, the agony becoming a numb throbbing. The last orc picked him up and threw him like a rag doll, across the room where he hit the wall and landed on a pile of refuse. Gratefully, he lost consciousness.  
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Sam had been sleeping quite comfortably next to his Master when the nightmare began. At first there were murmurs and then Frodo began twisting and pushing against him. He pulled Frodo to him, trying to gently wake him by whispering soothing nonsense words in his ear and gently combing through his hair. But this seemed only to aggravate his Master all the more until now Frodo was screaming and thrashing wildly. Screams of pain and panic issued from the hysterical hobbit. And Sam was struck with the analogy of a wounded animal being brutally tortured . He clutched Frodo to him, "I'm here, Mr. Frodo. No ones gonna hurt you no more. I'm here, me dear. Shussssh, be quiet, me dear...tis alright....tis just your Sam...." He continued trying desperately to quiet this wild creature that resembled his Master.

When the wailing had started, Sam had heard a rush of activity in the hallway as healers made way to Frodo's room. Saleth entered first then Aragorn followed quickly by Merry. They ran to the bedside and encircled Frodo and Sam trying to calm and waken the Ringbearer. Frodo's eyes lit on them and his face paled, panic evident in his features. His eyes, wide with terror, had the glassy look of one still caught in the dream world. He looked from face to face, seeing the phantasms of the nightmare he was locked in. Aragorn grasped Frodo's face between his hands, Frodo screamed again, kicking at the King.

"Come back....come back to the light, Frodo!" Aragorn commanded. Instantly, Frodo's eyes cleared, his body sagged and he was overcome with jagged sobs. He turned to Sam, clutching at his nightshirt desperately.

"Sam, Sam save me! Don't let them hurt me like that again. Sam ....oh, Sam... PLEASE!" he choked and begged in rushed sentences. Sam's face crumpled in fear and alarm for his Master, tears streaming down his cheeks.

He pulled Frodo tightly to him, "No, my dear. No ones hurtin' you again. Your Sam will protect you." Merry crawled up on the bed and embraced Sam and Frodo.

"You're safe, Frodo., We'll protect you. We'll *all* protect you," Merry whispered as he clung to his cousin and the devoted gardener.

Saleth had prepared chamomile tea and mixed in a heavy dose of sedative as well. Now Aragorn brought the cup to Frodo, and Sam helped Frodo take shaky gulps of the brew until it was gone. He trembled violently within the hobbit embrace. "You're safe, Frodo. We are here for you, little one," Aragorn said, his voice cracking with emotion as he looked on this small group of friends.

"Safe...safe...no orcs...just...a dream...help me, Sam. I don't want any more dreams...please help me," Frodo whispered as his eyes began to close and he slumped against Sam's chest. Sam moved to lie him down, but Frodo's eyes snapped open, "No, don't leave me....they'll come back....they always come back...Sam..." Sam soothed him some more until his had calmed and his eyes were, once again closed, but made no move to disengage the clutching hands from his nightshirt.

"These night terrors only worsen as each day passes. It becomes harder and harder to wake him from them. I worry that one night we will be unable to do so and he will be trapped within his nightmares forever," Aragorn whispered.

Sam looked up at Aragorn, "How can that be? They are still only nightmares, Mr. Strider, sir," he asked worriedly.

"If he believes them to be real he will slowly lose his sanity, Sam. The dreams will become his reality and our world will be but a passing memory to him. If this happens he will go mad. The dreams are so strong and so vivid, Frodo will be unable to distinguish what is real and what is memory. It is imperative we deal with this or it could be the end of the Frodo we know and love." Aragorn rose, he gave a cup of the laced tea to both Sam and Merry. "Drink, gentlemen. He will not have this dream again tonight, I'll warrant." Sam looked at Merry, Merry nodded and then they drank. After they were done, Sam settled down pulling his Master protectively into the curve of his body. Frodo sighed contentedly.

Aragorn turned to Merry. "Get some sleep now, Merry. You must get him to talk to you, to anyone or he will lose his hold on his sanity." Merry kissed Frodo on his damp forehead and left the room to rejoin Pippin in their quarters. Aragorn and Saleth stared down at Frodo. A heavy sigh came from the King. "This must work," he turned to Saleth, "We cannot allow this continued torture of this dear friend." He turned back and studied the two hobbits as they slept.  
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Frodo slowly opened his eyes as the sunlight crept through the shutters, filling the room with a bright glow. Beside him, Sam slept. He smiled at his dearest friend's face, so peaceful, he looked. He had a vague feeling of uneasiness as he slowly began to recall bits and pieces of the night before. 'At least it is over, and no harm done', he thought. But still doubt niggled at his brain suggesting that, perhaps, this night had been different somehow. Sam had woken and watched Frodo as he began to sit up. He could see that his Master was still weak, so he reached out to support him. Frodo jumped.

"Oh, Sam...I thought you were still sleeping," he smiled. "I was just going to use the chamber pot. I can do it myself Sam, you just rest. You look exhausted," he said with concern.

"It's all right, Mr. Frodo. I need to be gettin' up to get breakfast anyways," Sam said gently.

"Nonsense. You keep insisting on coddling me, but you yourself have just gone through an equally horrifying ordeal and should rest," Frodo smiled.

Sam's eyes filled with tears and his lip quivered. Frodo obviously did not recall the latest 'ordeal'. Frodo became alarmed at Sam's reaction and reached out for his friend. "Oh, Sam, what have I done or said ? I didn't mean anything by it, my friend," his eyes were wide in alarm and he pulled Sam to him in a tight embrace.

"Mr. Frodo...you had an awful nightmare last night," Sam said quietly.

Frodo's face took on a hooded, secretive look. "Did I? I hope I didn't wake you, Sam. What did I say or do?" he asked levelly, but there was a quaver in his voice.

"You need to talk to someone, Mr. Frodo, and soon. If not me, then Mr. Merry or anyone. You cannot keep this locked up inside you, pretending it didn't happen, any longer," Sam whispered as he clasped Frodo's hands in his and looked into his Master's blue eyes.

Frodo was terrified that somehow he had revealed himself and the darkness that held sway over him whenever he closed his eyes. He forced himself to keep his face as neutral as possible. "They're just dreams, Sam. They will pass. There's nothing that can be done for it, it's just the way it is," he said evenly.

"NO!" Sam shouted. Frodo jumped. Seldom had he seen his kind and gentle gardener so furious as he was now. "You will *not* hide this...you will NOT keep it to yourself like you do everythin' else...it will RUIN you and I will *not* allow you to torture yourself by refusing help when it is offered!" With that Sam stomped from the room, leaving a wide eyed, shocked and confused Frodo Baggins perched on the side of his bed.

Merry brushed past Sam as he exited the room. "It's a bit early for a row, isn't it cousin? What have you said or done to rile him so?" he grinned slowly.

Frodo shook his head. "It's a mystery to me. But it seems to involve me being stubborn, secretive and having nightmares," he said as he continued to gape at the empty doorway.

"Ahh...I understand completely now," Merry said. Frodo's eyes were instantly on him.

"You do?"

"Yes cousin, I do." Merry said solemnly, the grin now gone.

"Who else shares this knowledge? I myself, seem to be at a loss, having no memory of the event." Frodo asked slowly.

"Saleth, Aragorn, Sam and myself, cousin," answered Merry. "Today you will get to the bottom of it, and then the monster will lose his hold over you and become more manageable, I think." he added.

Frodo visibly paled as he gulped. He felt suddenly sick to his stomach. These reactions were not lost on Merry. "First, we will begin with me, as promised, my love. But let's get you comfortable, shall we?" Frodo nodded slowly as a feeling of dread overcame him. He took Merry's hand and slowly lowered his feet to the floor. He wavered a bit, but then stood firm. Merry pulled the screen by the chamber pot and Frodo had his privacy. "Just call when you're done, Frodo," said Merry as he washed his hands and began warming the lavender oil for Frodo's massage. He put a kettle on for tea and once the water was breaking, dropped the tea in to steep. He placed the kettle on the hearth and retrieved two cups from the sideboard. After filling them with tea, he added a healthy dose of honey to each, since they both enjoyed their tea on the sweet side. He placed these on the tray. Frodo had finished and stood watching Merry by the curtain. When Merry turned he almost dropped the tray in surprise. "Hoy, Frodo, you gave me a start. I told you to call me," he grumped. Merry removed the chamber pot to the water closet, took a damp flannel and washed Frodo’s hands, then turned to help his cousin back to the bed. He looked into Frodo's eyes. Frodo looked back.

"It was a bad one, wasn't it Merry. Last night? I must have had a bad one," he gulped looking frightened and Merry noticed suddenly just how small and frail his strong willed cousin looked at that moment... like a lost child, his face in distress and unsure of himself. Merry pulled him into an embrace, "Yes, Frodo it was a bad one...but we're going to right this, together." He helped Frodo up into the bed, tucking him in. Frodo felt suddenly exhausted, knowing that everyone knew what he had gone through in the tower of Cirith Ungol. He hadn't wanted to burden them, knowing there was nothing they could do to change things. He closed his eyes and tears slid down from under the lashes. He felt unclean, that he was not worthy to be amongst those that cared for him. He knew these feelings were unfounded, but was unable to dismiss or ignore them. A small groan escaped him and he turned to his side.

Merry felt pity and wanted to comfort his cousin, but decided instead to ignore the tears and push on. Perhaps if he told Frodo about his worst recurrent nightmare, Frodo would share and they could both gradually begin to heal. "Roll over, Frodo," he murmured. Frodo rolled onto his stomach and Merry removed the nightshirt, and covered Frodo from the waist down with a quilt. He began to run the warmed oil into Frodo's scarred back, and to speak quietly.

"Do you want to hear about my nightmare, Fro'?" he whispered.

"Yes, Mer'. Tell me about the worst one first, all right?" Frodo's voice shook as he answered.

TBC


	33. Chapter 33

Disclaimers: All characters, places and events are the sole property of the Tolkien Estate. I receive no money for this piece of fiction, only the satisfaction of writing about the land and peoples that he so beautifully depicted.

Warnings: Themes of a violent nature are depicted in this chapter, so be warned.

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 33

Merry remained quiet as he rubbed the oil into Frodo's back, working the tension out of the tight muscles.

"You're so tense, Frodo," he said. No reply came from his cousin except a small sigh. "You know, Saleth has shown me some exercises for your legs and arms. We can do those later today and gradually get your strength back so you can walk. We could even go outside. It's been quite beautiful...lots of sunshine and the flowers....."

"Merry"

"Hmmm?"

"You're stalling. You always stall when you have an unpleasant task to do." Frodo rolled over on his side and looked up at his cousin. He was startled by the look of dread and fear on Merry's face. "It's all right, Mer'," Frodo said softly. "Remember how you used to be able to tell me everything? Even when you were very small, you would run to me and climb into my lap, tears in your eyes, and let it all out." Frodo smiled and slowly sat up The room lurched and Merry steadied him as he slowly settled against the headboard. Merry took the nightshirt and slowly pulled it down over Frodo's head, bringing his arms through, until Frodo was dressed once again.

"I think I am a bit too big to sit on your lap, cousin," Merry grinned shakily.

"I would hope you would never be too big or too old to talk to your old cousin Frodo," Frodo said. Blue eyes locked with hazel. Merry gulped.

"Maybe some tea, what do you say, old hobbit?"

"That would be grand," Frodo said smiling.

Merry got down from the large bed, put tea in two cups, removed the kettle from the fire and poured the water. He let the tea steep as he gazed out the window, apparently lost in thought. He added honey to the cups and brought the tray to the bed. After situating the tray between he and Frodo, he took his cup, stirring it slowly. His gaze was far away. Frodo watched him over the rim of his cup and thought, 'That's what I look like. Lost in another world, a world of darkness.' He swallowed his tea with difficulty. Merry looked back at Frodo and their eyes met.

"It's very hard, isn't it, Frodo?"

"Yes, but it will get easier," Frodo said softly, praying it was true. He reached out and grasped Merry's hand, caressing it in small circles with his thumb. "Tell your favorite 'old' cousin what's on you mind, please Mer'", Frodo's voice shook.

"All right...where to begin. The worst nightmare usually comes back night after night. Each time it is so real, so vivid. I keep thinking that it will fade, the healers keep saying the dreams will fade," he looked desperately at Frodo, "they *said* they would go away with time. But they haven't." his eyes lost their luster and his voice quavered. "It starts with a black cloud of cold air surrounding me, like a dense fog. I am so cold, it seems to penetrate right to my bones. I am walking across an immense plain covered with dead bodies. The air is ripe with the fetid smell of the fallen. Most of the dead are orcs, but there are quite a few men among them as well. It's so dark, it's hard to tell where I am walking. I hear a screech, a Nazgul, circling the field." Frodo shuddered involuntarily. "His beast flies low over me, and I drop to the ground, a dread like I've never experienced renders me totally immobile. I struggle to bring myself to my knees and look up. He and his flying beast, are hovering over King Theoden. The King's horse rears in terror and falls, crushing the King --- the King I have sworn my oath to, now lies beneath him." Merry's eyes are filled with tears, his hands and voice shaking, and his gaze is distant. Frodo's eyes are huge and he reaches out to capture Merry's hands in his.

"I'm here, Merry. It's all right," he whispers in concern. Merry takes a gulp of tea and tries to calm his breathing and the shaking in his hands. He takes a deep breath and turns to Frodo.

"I'm all right, but I need to finish now that I've started, Frodo."

"I understand," Frodo says and takes Merry's hands in his once more.

"The beast turns towards Eowyn, who stands alone on this huge field of death and fog. She has overcome the Dark Breath that has made the rest of us quail. She is so strong, appearing more like an avenging angel with light all about her. For a brief time, I am filled with hope at the sight of her. She challenges the Nazgul and begins to strike at him with her sword. He hisses and laughs at her saying 'I cannot be killed by the likes of you. I will rend your flesh and leave you to be devoured by the carrion of your world.' His voice chills my heart and I begin to feel the despair overwhelming my soul, once again.

Eowyn stands between the Nazgul and King Theoden's body. "Be gone, fell beast' she cries. She sweeps her sword in an arc, slicing the head from the beast the Nazgul sits astride. The flying beast falls to the ground.  
The Nazgul climbs off the dead beast and moves towards her. She raises her shield but he strikes her down with his black mace, shattering the shield and her arm. Now he moves towards her to take her life. I can't seem to get my legs to move. I try to run--to run to her, but it is as if I am running through water or thick mud. Finally, I manage to pull myself to where the battle between the two is taking place. Eowyn lies dying on the ground. I can see him, I can see the specter of a once great King. He is pale and ghostly, his features and form long twisted into a hideous visage, and my breath catches in my throat. As he makes to deliver his final blow to Eowyn, I stab at the now visible leg. An ear piercing screech rends the air, and yet it sounds somehow familiar to my ears. I am immediately plunged into a dark, cold void as I fall. I feel myself leaving my body, my arm is so cold and numb I can not lift it. I fall to the ground, my eyes frozen open yet still seeing Eowyn and the Dark wraith in front of me. I am unable to move or even breath. Eowyn stabs up and through the Dark King's head and another screech breaks the darkness. He turns to me as he falls and ..... and...." Merry swallowed convulsively.

Frodo touched him on the arm, his eyes filled with compassion. "Merry, it's all right, it is only a dream, it's all right," he said soothingly.

Merry turned to look at Frodo, his eyes haunted and his face ashen. "It is Pippin," he said in a bare whisper. "It is Pippin and he says...he says...'Merry? Why? I love you, Merry," and then he is gone. Merry was near hysterical now. "Oh Frodo...I killed my Pip!"

Frodo soothed, "No, Merry, it is only a dream" he said as he pulled the sobbing hobbit to him in a tight embrace. Frodo's tears flowed freely now as he rocked his quivering cousin back and forth.

"All my life I have sought to protect him, and then he dies at my own hands," Merry gasped.

"No, Merry, no. Pippin is alive and well *because* of your efforts," Frodo says, searching Merry's face. "If anyone is to be blamed, it would be me, Mer'. I should never have allowed you to follow me on this quest. All that you have suffered or will suffer is because I was selfish. I *wanted* you to be with me, to make me stronger," Frodo whispered.

"How dare you! How dare you, Frodo Baggins, for thinking so little of us!" Merry cried as he pushed his cousin away. Frodo recoiled, a stunned and anguished look on his face. "We came because we loved you. Nothing could have stopped us because you needed us with you. I, and Pip as well, have always looked up to you with a sort of awe, because you were the strong, smart one. We worshiped you, and still do, as our worldly older cousin. Someone who always had all the answers to all the hard questions. We would have died to protect you because you are more than just our cousin, you are like a brother to us. Don't you know that by now?" Merry's eyes flashed at Frodo. Frodo's face softened and he embraced Merry tightly.

"I love you both so much. I would never have been able to live with myself if anything had happened to you," he sobbed.

"It was my fault Pip came along. He was too young. I should have sent him home where it was safe," Merry sighed.

"Listen to yourself," Frodo said angrily. "You give me a lecture about trying to keep you safe by not allowing you to come with me on the quest, and yet you are doing the same thing with Pip! Don't you know by now how he idolizes you like you once did me? He would never have left your side, Merry. You should see that by now. Because we all have such deep regard for each other, that is what carried us through the endless dark days and nights and formed the very heart of our fellowship."

"You're right, of course, Frodo. But still he was injured he..."

"Will survive and recover back to his old self because he *is* Pippin," smiled Frodo. "We all were wounded and have lost our innocence, but in some ways we are much stronger than we were before, wouldn't you agree?" Frodo asked.

"Yes. Yes, we are stronger, in some ways, than we were."

Frodo smiled sadly at Merry. "I never wanted any of this to happen, but it is done now and we can find consolation in knowing that we achieved many great things. We were needed and stood our ground defending the Shire, alongside the most noble of men, elves and dwarves. I feel that Pip appears in your dream because you felt guilty that you had, somehow, failed to protect him. Which is nonsense. Perhaps, it wouldn't hurt to talk to him about the dream and hear how he feels about it," Frodo said earnestly.

"Perhaps. Yes, I might tell Pip of the nightmare. It should be easier with the second telling, shouldn't it?" Merry raised his frightened eyes to lock with Frodo's.

Frodo smiled, "Yes, I think it shall be easier the second time." He hoped fervently that he was right. "If you have the dream again I also think you will be able to deal with it better, don't you?" he asked softly.

"I don't know, Frodo. But I *do* feel better now. It truly helped to talk this out with you and maybe I can carry some of that feeling with me when the nightmare comes again." He smiled widely. "I'll let you know, cousin."

Frodo smiled and sighed. "That must have been truly exhausting for you, telling your darkest thoughts to me, and all the emotions that it brought to light," he sighed looking equally exhausted for his part as listener.

"I *am* exhausted. How can such a thing be so tiring? But at the same time, I feel a peace inside that I have not felt for a very long time,: Merry said quietly, rubbing his eyes.

At that moment Sam entered with a well laden breakfast tray. "There's plenty here for all, Mr. Merry. Have a bite with us, won't you? My, your tea has gone cold, it has. I'll just fetch some more," Sam said, speaking more to himself than to anyone else. Merry smiled at Frodo, who smiled back. "How are you feelin, Mr. Frodo?" asked Sam.

"Famished, Sam. Absolutely famished," he said, his eyes twinkling.

Sam's face positively glowed at hearing this and he couldn't help smiling as he uncovered each small dish. "Mr. Frodo, you've made me right pleased sayin' that. I've brought a lot of different dishes to tempt your appetite, I have. But it warms my heart no end to see you hungry, once again, it does," he beamed at Frodo. Frodo couldn't help laughing at the look on Sam's face. The sweet sound of Frodo's laugh brought another blissful look from Sam, causing Merry to laugh as well. They all settled down to their meal and before long, empty dishes surrounded the hobbits, Merry and Sam. Merry glanced at Frodo. Warm blue eyes locked on his, and they both shared an unabashed look of deep admiration and love.

TBC


	34. Chapter 34

Disclaimers: All characters, places and events are the sole property of the Tolkien Estate. I receive no money for this piece of fiction, only the satisfaction of writing about the land and peoples that he so beautifully depicted.

Warnings: Themes of a violent nature are depicted in this chapter, so be warned. Non Con sex is implied.

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 34

Frodo was completely stuffed with the grand meal that Sam had provided. Merry and Sam watched him as he had taken his last few bites. His head lolled forward, his eyes almost closed only to jerk himself upward suddenly as consciousness pulled him back. Merry had eaten well, and was now quite exhausted as well. But Frodo appeared beyond mere exhaustion, exhibiting a fatigue brought on only by emotional stress. Sam finally had pity on the hobbit and removed the tray, wiped his mouth and taking enough pillows from behind him to lay him in a reclining position. Frodo made as to fight off sleep, mumbling that he was fine and preferred to stay awake, but Sam would have none of that and with very little effort, managed to get Frodo supine and comfortable.

"Na' a baby, Sam. Na' tired," Frodo mumbled.

"Of course yer not, Mr. Frodo. But no harm in a short nap after such a heavy meal, " Sam said soothingly. "You look as you could use one yerself, Mr. Merry, if you don't mind me sayin' so, sir," Sam said turning to Merry.

Merry chuckled. "I suppose I could use a nap, Sam. And let's drop the "sir", shall we? If nothing else I've learned on this journey, it's that we're friends through and through. You've taken such good care of a person I love dearly, I could never think of you as any less that a friend for that," Merry smiled and yawned widely.

Sam blushed a deep crimson, "Why Mr. Merry, I was just doin' as I was meant to do for Mr. Frodo," he said shyly.

"Were you, Sam? I think not. You are his dearest friend, Master Gamgee. He has never thought of you as a servant, surely you realize that?" Merry said. Sam blushed and looked down, and Merry realized that Sam had never really considered that. "Oh Sam, you *do* know that, don't you? He loves you, as you love him. I don't believe he would or could ever live without you---not as a servant, but as a dear friend," Merry said fervently.

Sam's face changed to one of adoration. "I do love him, Mr. Merry. He's like that, you understand. He makes you love him with his kindness and generosity."

"Yes, I do know that, Sam," Merry murmured. "I think I shall go check on my Pip. He's to get his leg out of that contraption today, and he's very excited. It will be very hard to keep him abed until Saleth thinks he is ready to put weight on it. Aragorn was amazed at how fast the bones had knit and has had a child set of crutches at the ready for him to use, knowing how impatient Pip can be. Very far sighted, the King is." Merry climbed down from the bed and walked out and down the hall to Pip's room. Pip was indeed, out of the contraption. But some healer had had the foresight to sedate him, knowing of the Took's desire to be about immediately. Merry smiled, crawling into bed next to his cousin, and immediately surrendered to sleep.

Sam continued to watch his master sleep. After awhile he heard soft footsteps behind him and turned to see who had entered the room. His mouth dropped open in wonder and awe as he looked upon the radiant personage of Queen Arwen Undomiel. He sank to his knees before her. Arwen placed a hand lightly on Sam's shoulder, "Master Samwise, please do not bow before me. It is *my* honor to be in your presence," she whispered. Sam rose, The Lady was smiling gently at him, a twinkle in her eye as she surveyed the flustered expression on Sam's red face.

"My Lady, it is good to see you once again," he stammered.

"As it is to see you, Samwise. I see that Frodo rests. I have need to speak with him, but it is not pressing and I will return later," she spoke gently, her voice like a soft breeze rustling new leaves, to Sam's ears.

"Aye, my Lady. I can send word, if you like, when he awakens," Sam offered.

"Thank you, Samwise. You should rest now. He will need your strength ere the day is through," she said as she lightly touched Sam's forehead. Suddenly, Sam felt drowsy and could only nod in agreement with this ethereal vision. She helped him up upon the bed where he curled protectively around his master. She smiled softly as she covered him. She then turned to look upon Frodo. His brow was furrowed as if he was caught in a dark dream, causing him anxiety. She lightly touched his brow smoothing away the etchings of the oncoming nightmare and leaving him in peaceful repose. A light smile now graced his lips. Content, she smiled and left the room, closing the door silently behind her.

Some time later, Sam awoke. He felt remarkably refreshed as he watched the slow rise of his Master's chest while he slept calmly beside him. He rose slowly, so as not to disturb Frodo's slumber. Arrangements needed to be made to bring hot water so that when Frodo awoke he could bathe. He smiled at the peaceful look on Frodo's face as he turned to leave the room, closing the door behind him.

Frodo awoke some hours later to Merry gently shaking him. "Come on you lazy hobbit, or you'll sleep the whole day away," he grinned. Frodo smiled sleepily up at him and stretched with a small groan.

"I had the oddest dream. All about me it was dark and I began to feel the dread that always overcomes me before a nightmare takes me," Frodo's eyes had gone distant, his voice quavered. Merry frowned in concern for his cousin. "But this time, I felt that someone else was there with me," Frodo smiled and looked up at Merry with hope in his eyes. "It suddenly became warm and light, the darkness dispelled and I was lying in a meadow filled with the most wonderfully fragrant flowers. How could that happen, I wonder?" Frodo said in awe.

"I don't know, Frodo, but I am very glad it did," said Merry with a grim smile.

"I am, as well. I shan’t look a gift horse in the mouth. It was a most pleasant sensation, one I have not had in an age," he smiled wistfully. "So what are you doing here, Mer'? I thought you were done torturing this old hobbit for the day and had gone to torment Pip instead," he said with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes.

"Torture! Torment! Here I am, trying to make you all the better and you say such things! You wound me, cousin," Merry said with an exaggerated and dramatic stagger, placing his hands over his heart.

Frodo laughed heartily at this. Merry came back to the bed. "We are going to do some simple exercises that Saleth showed me to make you strong enough to get about. Then, perhaps, I can show you the outside of this sickroom, for once," he smiled.

"Wonderful! I am getting rather anxious to be about again. And to see the sun and flowers sounds like a delightful idea. But Merry dear, Aragorn has told me I *have* been up while I was feverish, I doubt I need the exercises," Frodo said with confidence.

"Oh yes Frodo, you gave them quite the merry little chase and a few bruises as well..." he began to say.

"Bruises! What did I do Mer'? Did I hurt anyone?" Frodo asked anxiously.

"You were delirious, cousin, and no one was permanently damaged. But, my sweet, you must remember that most of what propelled you about was adrenaline and you, quite probably, will be unable to walk or move around much without some proper strengthening of your muscles first. You have been in bed for quite some time, you know," said Merry.

"Nonsense, and I'll prove it to you now. I believe you are taking your duties far to seriously, Meriadoc," he said as he pushed back the comforters and began to swing his legs over the side of the bed. "Now, step back and give me some room, and I'll show you that I am perfectly able to bear my own weight," Frodo said with force.

"Fro', I don't think this is such a good idea..." Merry stammered worriedly, but he did as Frodo asked and stepped back. He held his arms out and to either side of his cousin, preparing to capture him should he fall. Frodo had lowered his legs over the bed and his feet now touched the floor. His back was turned to Merry, and he was grateful for this small favor, for he had to clutch convulsively at the counterpane to keep from falling. The room pitched to and fro and he had to swallow many times to keep from vomiting. His legs were visibly trembling and, much to his chagrin, his vision began to gray then all went completely dark..

"What in the name of Eru are you doing out of bed!!" came a thunderous cry from behind both Merry and Frodo. Merry jumped and turned to see who it was that was so upset and at the very moment, Frodo lost his tenuous hold on consciousness as his legs folded beneath him. He slipped to the floor, hitting his head on the corner table on the way down.

"Frodo!" cried Merry. Aragorn rushed across the room. Frodo's face was very pale and drenched in sweat. Aragorn gently swept the Ringbearer up and placed him back in his bed.

"Stubborn hobbit," he muttered, but could not mask the concern in his eyes.

"Oh, this is all my fault. I was ready to catch him, and then you came in and startled me. Is he all right, Strider?" Merry asked anxiously.

Aragorn was examining Frodo's head. "He'll have a bump on his head but that is all. He was lucky," he shifted his eyes over to Merry. "Merry, he is still far too weak to try and stand." Aragorn chided.

"I know that, but he insisted he was fine and being a Baggins, set out to prove me wrong," Merry replied defensively.

Frodo's eyes fluttered open, "Wha' happen?" he mumbled.

"Exactly what I told you would happen you silly old Baggins. You are not strong enough to stand, and you will do your exercises with me or I will personally break your legs to keep you in bed!" Merry said fiercely.

Aragorn could not squelch a smile at the tone of Merry's voice and the look of rebuke on Frodo's face. "I am sorry, Merry. I thought I could do it," he said wanly.

"Slowly, Frodo. It takes time to rebuild your body when you've been ill. Listen to your cousin," Aragorn said gently.

"Very well, I will try to be more patient," Frodo sighed.

"Are you up to a few easy exercises, or do you think you've had enough excitement for the day?" Merry asked sarcastically, giving Aragorn a quick questioning look. Aragorn gave him a small nod and rose.

"I think I can manage," Frodo said, but he sounded groggy.

"I will be down the hall if you should need me, my friends. It seems Pippin has decided he has totally healed and is refusing to use the crutches I have provided for him. Why are all hobbits so very stubborn?" he asked with a smile as he left the room.

Merry sat Frodo up against the headboard and placed pillows all about him so that he was comfortable. Frodo was beginning to look a bit more alert and curious as to what Merry had planned. Merry crawled up to face him. "all right Frodo, you are going to push against my hands. Let's just see how strong you really are," he said.

"This is silly. That's not going to help me walk," Frodo said but raised his arms so that his hands were straight out in front of him, palm to palm with Merry's.

"Ahh, but it will, cousin. You don't just use your legs to walk, you'll need your arms to get out of bed and help steady yourself, after all," Merry noted that Frodo's arms were trembling with exertion as he pushed against Merry. Frodo's face was slicked with sweat and his breaths were rapid at even this small effort. Finally, he dropped his arms to the bed and slumped back against the pillows.

"This is humiliating. I'm as weak as a bairn. The slightest effort leaves me winded and covered in sweat, how am I ever to have the strength to walk?" he despaired.

"Frodo, it will get easier, I promise. Let's try your legs and then we will take a bit of a break, all right?" Merry said cheerfully. Frodo groaned. Merry moved to the end of the bed and bent Frodo's right leg. He held the hobbit's foot flat against his chest. "All right Frodo, now push with your leg. See if you can't kick me off the bed," Merry grinned. Frodo struggled to push against Merry but finally fell back again, panting. "That was good, cousin. Now we'll try the left, shall we? Then we'll be done," he encouraged. Again he placed Frodo's foot against his chest and Frodo struggled to push against Merry. He was completely covered in perspiration by this time, his nightgown plastered against his body. Merry marveled at how stubborn his cousin was. He was obviously exhausted, his whole body trembling, but still he pressed as hard as he could, against Merry's chest. Finally he collapsed against the pillows.

"No...more...Merry," he panted, his face red and sweaty from exertion.

"All right, Fro'. Not bad for a first try. I brought us a little something as a prize for all your hard work," Merry smiled mysteriously. Frodo grimaced. In their youth, Merry had always ended up getting them both into trouble whenever he had that look. Still, Frodo had to admit, he *was* curious about this 'prize'.

"What is it, Merry?" he said with dread, but smiling slowly.

"Oh, it's a delight. Something you'll truly enjoy," Merry grinned evilly again, as he climbed down and scooted under the bed. There was a clinking noise and much bumping to and fro. Frodo was now *very* curious and sat up straighter trying to look over the edge of the bed. All he could see were two rather large hobbit feet, that were moving back out from under the bed. Merry popped up and held in his right hand a beautifully etched decanter of a clear liquid. In the other he held two man-sized wine glasses. Frodo's eyes were almost as wide as his smile.

"Merry, what have you got there, you little thief?" he queried with a wide smile.

"I am *not* a thief," Merry said indignantly. "I simply *borrowed* it for this special occasion," he smiled deviously. "Frodo, do you remember that wonderful cordial that Lord Elrond served us in Rivendell? And how we all got so horribly drunk on it?" Merry asked with a grin.

"Oh, Merry is this it?" Frodo's eyes shown with delight. "It had the most delightful taste, like apples and light, if one could taste light, that is. And no nasty headaches or retching the next day. Sam said he felt like he was drinking sunshine. And none of us could drink very much of it, it was so powerful," Frodo gasped elatedly.

"This is the very same. I nicked it off of Aragorn's very shelf," Merry said proudly.

"You didn't! Oh, he will boil you in oil if he finds out," Frodo giggled.

"But he won't, dear cousin. I replaced it with a decanter of water. He'll never figure it out, unless of course, he decides to have a drink. But what are the odds of that happening anytime soon, I ask you? We are quite safe, once I bar the door," Merry said smugly. He handed the decanter and glasses to Frodo who laughed even harder as Merry secured the door then climbed up and sat next to Frodo against the headboard. Once they were both quite comfortable, he poured them both a healthy portion and set the decanter on the table. They looked at each other laughing, and raised their glasses. "To health, happiness and long life for you, my dearest cousin," Merry said seriously.

Frodo smiled sadly back at Merry, "And to you, Mer'...and to you." They clinked the glasses and took a long swallow. Almost as one their eyes closed as they savored the light flavor and smiles broke out on their faces.

"Just as I remember it," said Merry.

"Actually, I think it tastes even better. Perhaps the act of pilfering it makes it somehow, sweeter," Frodo said with a chuckle, already feeling a slight buzz in his senses.

"Merry moved so that he sat opposite Frodo, their knees touching through the counterpane. He watched his cousin closely as he said "Frodo?"

"Hmmm?" Frodo was quite enjoying the cordial and Merry retrieved the decanter topping of the older hobbit's glass. Frodo's eyes grew round, but he only smiled all the more. Merry did not refill his own glass, however.

"I think it is now time to listen to your story...your nightmare," Merry's eyes watched Frodo's face as he said this. Slowly, a look of utter despair and fear filled the Ringbearer's eyes. A flash of anger replaced it, suddenly.

"Is that the *real* reason you are plying me with alcohol, Merry? Was this just a ruse, if so I am not amused!" he panted angrily, obviously having a hard time holding his liquor. The exercises and overall strain on his body along with the last meal having been many hours before, were causing the powerful cordial to drunken him much faster than if he had been in better health. Merry had known this, of course, and now had to face the irate person before him.

"Frodo, I brought the decanter here as a celebration for all your hard work. Yet, I would be lying to say that was the only reason. I wanted you to relax a bit, hoping it would ease the telling of your story. I am sorry if you feel you have been deceived in any way," Merry said sadly.

"Oh Merry, what am I to do with you?" Frodo sighed. "Perhaps....perhaps this will make things easier, and I truly have come a long way, so a celebration really *is* in order," he smiled wanly, but his face was pale and the hand holding the glass had begun to tremble. He tipped the glass up and drained it, holding it out for Merry to refill. Merry's mouth dropped open a look of surprise filling his eyes, he retrieved the decanter and filled Frodo's glass.

"Easy there, Frodo. It's been awhile since you've indulged in spirits and you are still on the mend. Plus, save some of this wonderful drink for me!" Merry looked at the decanter then at his glass seemingly trying to decide something. "Oh bother," he said, and in one gulp downed the remains of his glass. This caused Frodo to burst out in raucous laughter.  
"Well, I *do* have to catch up, cousin. I simply can't let a Baggins best a Brandybuck, it can't be done. Frodo's eyebrows shot up and his mouth formed a small "o" of surprise.

"Ho, we'll juss 'ave ta see habout tha'cussin," he giggled helplessly.

"Some other time, silly hobbit, we have other things to challenge us this night," Merry said with an attempt to look serious, but failing miserably.

Frodo sighed. "I suppose you arre righ', deerr swee' Merree," he slurred. His eyes took on a bleary, far away look and he held his hand out to his cousin. "Don' le' go, alwight?" he said, butchering the sentence.

"Never love, I am always with you," Merry said and meant it.

Frodo took another deep swallow of the clear liquid, smiling as he looked at the decanter, then back at Merry, then refilled his own glass this time. Merry watched the shaking hands pour most of the drink into the glass leaving the decanter on the bed. Merry picked it up, noticing it was about half full, and returned it to the table. When he turned back, Frodo was watching him closely.

"You will hate me when I am done. You will never want to be near me again," he said slowly and without a slur. Merry felt a chill go up his spine, listening to the voice that sounded nothing like his beloved cousin's.

Merry swallowed hard, "That is simply not possible, Frodo and you should have more faith and trust in me after all we've shared all our lives," he said angrily. Frodo looked down at his hands.

"This is differen', you will ssee," he said again in that low, eerie voice. Merry just sat there. He took Frodo's hand and looked deep into his eyes.

"We love you, we all love you and nothing, absolutely nothing, shall ever change that," he said vehemently. Frodo's eyes misted, he cleared his throat and gulped a little more of the clear drink.

"Let's juss ge' thiis o'er with," he muttered. "When the dream begins I am in a col', col', place. I always think tha' the fire has died or I have fallen ou' 'o bed and am lyin' on tha' floor. Then I realiss I am naked. I am lying on a floor, but it is most definitely no' my bedroom," he said with a bitter chuckle. His slur became less and less noticeable as the adrenaline began to work on his nervous system. Merry watched Frodo's face carefully, the large blue eyes were wide and oh so far away, 'haunted' he thought. ' They look haunted', and he shivered. "I can hear many loud voices all around me...orcs fighting over my belongings. "one of the larger orcs bears down on me and begins slapping me, demanding information I cannot give, for I do not know of what he speaks. The chamber is so cold and ripe with the stench of many unwashed and forever unclean, bodies. The smell presses into my senses, overwhelming me so that I retch violently. Merry? " Frodo looked up at Merry beseechingly, "I cannot get that scent out of my mouth, my nose or off my skin. It is always with me now, and I feel tainted and filthy. Even food has not the flavor it once had for me. The Ring also took all taste, memory and feeling from me. By the end, I was just an empty shell. But the orc smell, the horrid taste of their drink, it lingers on my skin like an oil, and try as I might, I cannot seem to wash it away." Frodo slowly turned away. It was as if he no longer even saw Merry there in front of him, lost so deeply in the agony of recollection that he was physically absent from the room. The large orc drags me over to a wall and, after placing shackles on my wrists, pulls me up into the air hanging even with him. Constantly he barrages me with questions. "Where is it you little slime rat?" " Frodo's voice sounds so much like an orc that Merry jumps at the sound. "He asks me and I tell him I do not know of what he speaks. That he has already taken everything... everything. I have failed in my quest. All that I have ever loved or known, all of Middle Earth, will now pay the price of my failure." Frodo is gasping now, his eyes very wide as his face contorts into a rictus of grief and guilt, and Merry realizes that Frodo is " there" now, reliving possibly the worst nightmare he has ever had. But Merry is helpless to assist him, for he is frozen in place facing his cousin, feeling as if he too, is locked in this dream and is unable to rouse his limbs to pull his cousin to him and comfort him in a tight embrace. So he listens, petrified at his own inaction, and desperate to retrieve Frodo before insanity finally lays claim to him.

"They whip me, but although I feel the burning of the strikes, my mind is on the Shire. All whom I love are being tortured unimaginably by the orcs, who seeing the effects of the torture, laugh with glee and are spurned on to increase their efforts until, one by one, all have perished. Middle Earth, Buckland, Tookland, the Shire....it is burning and all that was green and good is now covered in ash and darkness as Sauron regains his new body and holds dominion over all," he croaks this, gasping out sobs in between the words. He reaches a shaking hand towards the decanter, which breaks the spell cast over Merry. Merry retrieves it first and fills Frodo's glass to the brim. The one who actually *saved* Middle Earth, swallows it all in one large, convulsive gulp then holds out the glass for more. Merry hesitates, then fills the glass once more, then refills his own, setting the almost empty decanter back on the table. He reaches out to Frodo to offer some small comfort but Frodo bats him away, "I do not deserve your sympathy. Stay away. I must finish this before I can no longer tell this tale," he says angrily.

Merry draws back and Frodo continues, his eyes never once losing the unfocused, far away look of something too dreadful and too horrible for any other living thing to imagine. "A small orc then decides that the whipping is not enough, it is not getting them the information they seek. He brings a brand and begins pressing it to my legs, feet and back. It is agony and I scream long and hard, but deep down, I know I deserve it. For, because of me all is lost. Slowly, a large group of orcs begin to surround me as I am placed on a table. They are placing bets on how long I will last the next torture," Frodo gulps convulsively, and shifts his eyes to Merry. "Merry, I am so ashamed. I do not think I can tell you what they did to me, it is too much to bear...please don't make me...please?" Frodo begs hysterically.

Merry is overwhelmed by the desperate pleadings of his dear cousin and grabs him, pulling him tightly to him. "Of course not, my love. I would never ask it of you, for I believe I know what they did to you that day. I would slay every one of them, were they here before me now, to rob you, a being completely guileless and pure of soul, of your last remaining thread of self and dignity." He weeps for Frodo, for he can only imagine how it must have been to be violated by such filth repeatedly.

"It is then that I pray they will simply cut my throat and allow me to finally die," Frodo continues in a bare whisper, "but they are insistent; pouring a foul drink down my throat when I lose consciousness. It rouses me enough for them to continue their torture. Even the hot brand gains them no information, and they begin kicking me viciously until, at last, I can no longer draw breath. Finally, the last remaining orc finishes with me and tosses me aside. Then I am, thankfully, claimed by darkness." Frodo has spoken in that eerie, unnaturally flat voice. Hurriedly detailing his torture so as to be rid of its presence in his mind and soul. However, the tale is still not done and Merry is crying silently as he knows he can do nothing until this sweet, innocent is finished with his story. Frodo again drinks the contents of his glass in one deft, gulping motion. By all accounts, he should be unconscious from the effects of the libation, but memory of the ordeal has acted as a wicked and vile stimulant, and he now shows little effect of the cordial. Merry knows that later, the full effects will be realized once the adrenaline has left his system, but for now, he pours him the last of the once sweet drink. He wonders if Frodo will ever again be able to drink of this elven vintage after this night.

"I finally realize that Sam is not there and I despair. I know he would not willingly leave my side and must have been killed. His loss fills me with such sorrow I cannot even express it." Frodo looks suddenly at Merry, "But, Merry, there is even something far worse. Worse than knowing you have destroyed the world as you know it and that your very best friend, whom you have known and loved, all your life has been tortured and killed. What could possibly be worse, you say? For I see it in your eyes." Frodo's eyes have taken on a feral glint of madness as he says this and Merry is becoming more and more frightened for the sanity of his dear cousin. "They have taken the Ring." Frodo says in a low, desperate whisper, very unlike his own voice. He looks at Merry with abject self loathing and guilt at the thought of the Ring being of more value than all of Middle Earth or the simple love and friendship of his devoted and gentle gardener. "You see why I cannot tell Sam. The Ring had completely entwined itself about my soul, my heart, my very body by this time. It spoke to me day and night with no pause. It spoke lies and twisted good into bad until I was completely under Its spell. I could no longer feel the old Frodo Baggins inside of me or remember anything of what he once loved or dreamed, for I was no longer that person. I was the RingOwner, not the Ringbearer. It was mine. I had fought so long, struggling against Its evil, but It was unrelenting ---the whispers filled my thoughts constantly until that was all I could hear. So, my dear Merry, I grieved more for the loss of the Ring than even for the countless lives that would be lost or for my dearest Sam." He broke down into deep, racking, convulsive sobs as he spoke this last.

"Oh Frodo," Merry gasped as he pulled him tightly against him. "Such horror I would take from you, I would have borne for you, my poor dear cousin. You fought It better than anyone else could have, even Elrond and Gandalf. You could not help but eventually be poisoned, my dearest. But It took longer to poison you than any other. Do you know why?" Merry pulled Frodo away so he could look into his face. Frodo looked up, a glimmer of hope at forgiveness for his vast sins, upon his beautiful face. Merry smiled gently down at him, "Because my dearest of hobbits, you *have*....not *had*, Frodo....but *have* a wonderful innocence and love of all things inside of you. It could not break through that sheer goodness until the very end, don't you see? You're pure and gentle nature still lies here within you," he gently poked Frodo's chest. "You really did win over that evil thing in the end, Gollum just helped you along a bit, is all. Gollum didn't have the innocence, purity or love of all life even from the very beginning. So the Ring easily took all of him until It was the only thing he had left or desired. Even down to his last moments, as he fell to his death, he did not care that he was going to die, he felt only joy because he had the Ring and then it was far too late for him. You still had your own thoughts and feelings, they had just been pushed very deep down inside of you by the Ring's constant taunting and promises, but they returned to you once It was destroyed, and are still here Frodo. I know this because after the Ring was destroyed, Sam told me you remembered the Shire and all the good things the Ring had masked from you while It held you captive. You were so very happy that all would be safe because of the Ring's destruction and regretted not once, knowing you had given your life to do it," Merry's eyes were damp, tears coursed down his face as he smiled down into Frodo's blue, guilt ravaged eyes. "I have never been so proud, so *very* proud of you, in all my life, Frodo Baggins," he whispered fervently and placed a loving caress upon Frodo's forehead.

"Proud? Of me?" Frodo asked weakly.

"Yes, my dear. You saved us all. You carry guilt and shame on yourself, but you have no reason to feel either. You got the Ring to Mount Doom, and It was destroyed, it matters little by whom. You suffered greatly at the hands of the Orcs, but that is no cause for shame. *They* did that to you, you fought them and that takes courage. You have always been so hard on yourself, cousin. And I have always aspired to be more like you, more so now than ever," Merry said smiling. The look on Frodo's face was so comical and confused that Merry burst into gales of relieved laughter.

"But Merry," Frodo said so quietly that Merry had to lean down to hear him, "The Ring...I didn't care about anything after I realized the Ring had been taken...I was so cold-hearted... so vile and shameful," he sobbed.

"Frodo, it wasn't you. It was the influence of the Ring. Even you could not fight Its effects forever. You are a *good* person." He cupped Frodo's face in his hands, looking deep into the red rimmed and grief filled eyes. "It was the Ring that was evil, you have not changed, except to allow guilt and shame to claim what is left of your life," Merry said firmly.

"Oh Merry, but I *have* changed. I am empty now without that evil token. When It fell into the fires I felt as if I had had my soul cut from me and thrown in with it." He looked up at Merry, "I almost jumped in, the pain and loss were so great." Merry shuddered.

"I am so very glad, cousin, that you did not. For the world would be so empty without you in it, and I simply don't think any of us could have borne it. Sam especially." Merry was wept as he held his cousin tightly to him. "We will fill the void within you with love, and stories and pranks until you beg us to stop," Merry chuckled and wiped his face.

Frodo smiled a little, "What of the dreams, Merry? Each time I have them I feel I die a little. I do not believe I can bare it much longer," he said slowly and sighed.

"Do you remember my Aunt Aster, Frodo?" Merry asked.

Frodo looked up at Merry totally confused at this change of subject, but nodded. "Yes, she was an odd one, Merry, but I always liked her. She seemed to understand me better than all the others and she didn't deal strictly in 'natural hobbit sense,'" he smiled at the memory.

Merry smiled, "She was all that, Frodo, and she had some very interesting ideas about dreams and nightmares. She said to me once, after I had had a particularly horrible dream three days running, that I needed to take charge of the dream." Frodo raised his eyebrows and smiled quizzically at Merry. "I know, I know...my reaction was much the same as yours," he smiled. "But it actually seemed to work a bit," he paused.

"But Merry, how is it possible? When in a dream, the dreamer is so completely at the mercy of his subconscious?" Frodo sounded defeated.

"Well, here's what she had me do. Mind you, I don't know if it will work every time or even at all, but it's worth a go, don't you agree?" Merry looked hopeful. It was contagious. Frodo began to feel a glimmer of hope as well.

"I would try anything, cousin," he said.

"Before you lie down to sleep at night repeat over and over to yourself, 'It is but a dream and all of my friends will be there to protect me. I am not alone, I have hope. They are there for me.'" Merry said this in a low whisper.

Frodo looked up at Merry, obvious doubt in his sad eyes. "It sounds silly and I'm sure it won't work, but I shall try it," he said glumly.

"No Frodo, No. You must *believe* it. You must believe it will work in order for it to protect you. Picture all of us standing by you, fighting the orcs, giving you aid on your journey as we should have much longer and further than we did," Merry said with a pang of guilt.

Frodo hugged Merry to him. "You stayed with me as long as was possible, no guilt Merry, all right?" he said quietly.

"All right Frodo. But now, I *am* here. So is Pippin, Sam, Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli and even Lady Arwen. The *new* Fellowship, if you will, and we want to be with you in there," he thumped Frodo's forehead. "There's a battle to be waged and won. We can do this, if you believe it," he smiled at Frodo with confidence.

Frodo looked at Merry and his face grew determined. "Yes, we will prevail. Good over evil. There is hope, there is always hope," he said over and over to himself, feeling stronger each time he said it. He drank the last of the fine elven cordial and slumped back against the headboard. He looked at Merry and realized they were both quite drunk, but the seriousness of the situation had seemed to sober them considerably. Now they both began to relax, and felt the effects of the cordial reasserting itself over their bodies.

"It's done, Mer'. I told it. I didn' believe I could do it," Frodo slurred, whether from exhaustion or inebriation, Merry was uncertain.

"Yes, Fro', you did it. Here's to my brave, brave cousin." He raised his glass to Frodo's, which was empty. This brought a scowl to the Ringbearer's face, and a smile to Merry's. "You have out drunk a Brandybuck after all, you silly Baggins." he mumbled. Merry poured half of his glass into Frodo's, causing a smile to light up his face. They clinked their glasses and downed the last of the rare Elven vintage.

"Fro', I'm goin' ta fine so'more," and as Frodo burst into raucous laughter, Merry climbed from the bed and stealthily made his way back to Aragorn's chambers.

TBC


	35. Chapter 35

Disclaimers: All characters, places and events are the sole property of the Tolkien Estate. I receive no money for this piece of fiction, only the satisfaction of writing about the land and peoples that he so beautifully depicted.

 

Warnings: I've written a song ... so be warned. It's in the typical Irish ballad style.

A/N: A more lighthearted chapter than all the others. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it. I also hope you can understand what they are saying, as they are quite inebriated. (It gave my spell checker fits!!!)

 

Title: Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 35/?

 

Merry stumble down the corridor of the Houses of Healing until he found himself in the bright afternoon sunlight. He did not relish the long, arduous climb up the hill and through the gates to the Citadel, but he was on a mission. He finally found his feet, and began to walk, somewhat wobbly, towards the seventh level of Minas Tirith. A horse galloped up to him, and its rider offered a hearty hail.

“My dearest hobbit, where are you going on such unsteady legs?” laughed the Steward of Gondor.

“Faramir, how fare you, my dea' frien'?” countered Merry with a lopsided grin.

“I am well, little one. But where are you off to?” Faramir asked again.

“I have an urgen' erran' at the Cit'del, Far'mir, bu' my legs are tire' an' I am abi't unner the weathrr at the momen',” slurred Merry, as he staggered about the horse.

“Truly? Are you unwell, Merry?” Faramir asked with concern as he quickly dismounted to look more closely at the weaving hobbit before him.

“No, no nothin' like tha'. I will be fine in time,” Merry replied.

“I, too, am bound for the Citadel to meet with the King. Would you like to ride with me instead of walking all that way?” asked Faramir, still feeling concern at his friend’s obvious lack of balance.

“Tha' would be mos' kin' of you, Far'mir. I would be honnort to ride wi' 'oou,” Merry grinned.

Faramir placed Merry up on the horse first and then jumped up behind him. “Merry, what *have* you been into? Here I was, thinking you were ill, and you are nothing short of being completely soused. You absolutely reek of alcohol, and it's obvious you are very drunk, ” he scolded.

“Ah, bu' my Sleward, it was for a worthee caus'. I have been with Fro'oo and it too' a bit to loossn his tongue an' tell me 'is storee. "Course, we had to cellbraa' af'erwards. All jus' inn'cent fun, I assur' 'oou,” Merry looked up at Faramir with the most beguiling expression on his face.

Faramir had realized, early on, that the hobbits had a way of wrapping himself and Aragorn around their little fingers. He felt completely helpless to do anything except whatever they wished when they turned their eager faces up and looked at him like this. He smiled. “And, were you successful, dear friend?” he asked, knowing the pain the Ringbearer still kept hidden deep inside himself and hoping desperately, that Merry had had some success in reaching out to Frodo.

“More than sussessful, Far'mir. Fro'oh an' I haff been tal'kenn frohowrs. I trulee beleefe I haff helted him, in some small way. At leas' I hope I haff. Time will tell if I wass truwe sussessful in my underkating,” Merry said sadly.

They arrived at the seventh level and the guards stood back to admit the Steward and his companion. “Will you be here on the seventh level long, Merry? My meeting with the King should not take long, and then I would like very much to visit Frodo and see how he fairs,” Faramir asked.

“Fro'oh will pro'bly be asweep,” Merry hedged, “Bu', if you wiss to see'em you cou'd come by laler 'dis eve. I know how verr' mush he wanss to visit wi' you. Ass fo' myself, I plan to be done wi' my errann within an 'ours time, and then musss return to my couss'n.”

“Then perhaps, I will see you as you descend to the Houses of Healing and would delight in your company once again, if it is meant to be.” Faramir smiled and lowered the hobbit to the ground. They dismounted and a page took Faramir's horse to the stables. They walked together in comradely silence into the Citadel. Merry waved good-bye as Faramir went down the long corridor to the King’s throne room.

Merry gained the steps and climbed wearily up towards the King’s quarters. At the door were the guards that Merry had encountered the night previous. They smiled down at Merry as he approached. “Goo' day t' 'oou, gennlemen,” Merry said with a wobbly bow.

“Good day to you, Master Periannth.” They too, smiled and bowed. “Do you have need of our services this day?”

“I do, kinn' sirs. The Keen wishes me to brin' some of his finess vintage to sofen 'de 'earts of sdose visining from far lanns. He asts that I pwocure his own, priwate laball whish he has in his cham'ers. I am here to do so.” Merry lied smoothly, and then gave them his most innocent look.

The guards knew in what high esteem the King held the Periannth, even though this one was obviously inebriated, they saw no threat to allowing Merry access to the royal chambers. They had received no word that the hobbit would be coming for the spirits, but thought this merely an oversight by the royal court. They moved to the doors and held them open as Merry walked inside. “Let us know, young Master, if there is ought else we can do to assist you,” one of the guards offered.

“You are too kinn', goo' sir. I shall not be lonn', tha..nk (hic) yoou,” said Merry innocently.

The door closed and Merry giggled to himself. He didn’t think Aragorn would mind if he took a few decanters to Frodo. After all, it was for Frodo’s healing process that the spirits were needed, he convinced himself. He moved to the cabinet by the window where all manner of delicately crafted bottles and different colored liquids resided. One by one, he opened and sniffed them, trying to discern if it was something that could be imbibed or if it was a medicine, to be avoided. Strangely, they all seemed to smell about the same, but Merry did recognize another decanter of the elvish vintage that Frodo so preferred. The sweet light fragrance was unmistakable. Finding a small cloth sack he gently placed the decanter within. He found two more bottles that, to him, smelled like wine and placed those in the bag with the first. He truly wanted ale, but the ale in Gondor was far inferior to the Shire, so he stuck with the wines. He staggered across the room towards the door, taking one last look back at the mess he had left in the King’s room while he had expanded his search. He thought briefly about trying to tidy the room, but remembered that Frodo was waiting, and so he turned his back and wobbled slowly out of the chamber. He stopped at the door, bowed and thanked the guards for their assistance. They smiled in return and chuckled softly at the site of the small hobbit walking, somewhat unsteadily, down the corridor with the huge bag slung on his back.

Faramir had finished speaking with the King and was making his way to the courtyard, when he spied Merry struggling with his baggage. “Merry, wait, I can carry that for you, my friend. Besides, I do not wish you to be staggering about when you are so obviously 'under the weather',” he called, with a laugh.

Merry stopped and turned a huge smile on his face, and said “Far'mir you trulee are my safior today. Bearwing me hence, caree'ing my burdens, and then bearwing me away ag'in, if I am not bein' too forwar'.”

“Not at all, Master Brandybuck. I would be delighted to return you to your cousin,” he said with a smile. He hoisted Merry up onto the horse’s back, handed him the bag, and then climbed up behind him in the saddle. “And what, may I ask, is within this bag? It is quite heavy, I am amazed you got as far as you did,” he asked with a quirk of a smile.”

 

“A suppwise for Fro'oh, no less. I am sure he will finn' 'dis to be to his likeeng,” Merry smiled.

“Ah, a mystery for me, but perhaps not for Frodo, eh?” Faramir chuckled.

Merry laughed delightedly, “'oou hav' seen thwough me, ass ussual Far'mir,” he said.

They arrived at the Houses of Healing, and Faramir lowered Merry to the ground, handing the bag down lastly. “Tell Frodo I look forward to seeing him later, but now I have an errand to run for the King. Take care, Meriadoc, I will discover this ‘mystery’ later, I hope,” he said with a chuckle.

“Indee' you will, Far'mir. Until late', 'den.” Merry waved and congratulated himself on how very easy his return trip had been. Certainly he had been deceptive, but he kept telling himself that it was for Frodo’s benefit, and all would be forgiven in the end. He smiled and stumbled into the sick house and down the corridor to Frodo’s room. He walked in and saw his cousin staring dreamily up at the ceiling. “Hass ane'one bothered 'ou, Fro’ while I was 'way?” he asked.

“No. Ssam c'me by and I prenended to be aslee'. He’s sush a goo' frienn', bu' I simmly do no' feel li'e eatinn' righ' now. I ’ave founn tha' if 'oou feign slee' someptimes they, meanin' 'da healslers, 'ill leaf you 'lone. 'Though I do feel verr' guiltly doin' it to Ssam,” Frodo sighed.

“How do 'oou feel, cous'n?” Merry asked tentatively. He knew that Frodo had much healing yet to come, that one brief, emotional discussion of his torment would not be enough to purge him of the bleakness that had taken hold over him, but it was a start in the right direction, at least.

Frodo turned and smiled at Merry, “Be'ter, Mer’, mush be'ter. So wha' 'ave you brough' in tha' huge bag, if I may be so boll' as to asst?” He looked apprehensive knowing Merry’s penchant for trouble, but still felt too loose and comfortable from the wine to let it bother him over much.

Merry began to pull all manner of delicate crystal glassware from the bag, each holding a different colored liquid, and each, it seemed larger than the last. “More spirsits to continoo our con'ersation wid,” Merry said with a laugh.

Frodo winced. “Merwy, no mo'. I canno' continoo tohay to talk of all tha's on my minn' an' hearts,” he said. His face had paled at the mention of more ‘conversation’ and he began to tremble.

“No, Fro'o, no thas’s not wha' I meann'.” Merry reached for his cousin and pulled him to him. “You haff benn ssso bwave today, I would not asts any mor'n of 'oou. I jes' wannet to join you in a nigh'cap, if thas’s alright?” he said soothingly, and then smiled down at his cousin.

“A nigh'cap? 'Oou haff 'nough 'der to fill the Brannywine,” Frodo laughed.

 

“Indeed. Bu'ff we haff worksoveree hardt today, so it shoo't be a large nigh'cap, don’n you thinks cousnn?” Merry’s eyes were lit up with a devilish glint, and Frodo could not help himself as he began to giggle uncontrollably. Merry threw the bolt on the door, and climbed up on the huge bed. He made Frodo comfortable against the headboard, and sat facing him cross-legged on the bed. “Whish shoul' we try firs', do you thinn?” he mused.

 

“I like 'dat one inn the dar' red detancter. Wha' say 'oou, cousnn?” volunteered Frodo.

“I say bobboms ut, Fro’” again they laughed until they all but fell from the bed. Merry opened the decanter and poured two very healthy man sized goblets of the dark red liquid. Each sniffed, smiled at each other, and then downed the entire goblet in one huge, gasping gulp. “Ah, sos ist’s a competission 'oou wan', is it, my Hobbibon relaxion?” Merry’s eyes danced with glea.

 

“No, Mer’ I jes' wann' taste everysing. I feel li'e a new hobvit. I wann' to feel and tais'e and enjoy ag'in. The fasser I drinn t'is, the fasser we can moove on to the nest bobble, don’n 'oou thinn?” Frodo grinned mischievously.

“Fro'oh, it has been too lonn since you haff bin you' ole, defiant selfs. And I can’n fall't 'er logshic, as uswel,” he grinned.

One by one they made their way through the cache of decanters, drinking far more than any man could, because it was a well know fact that hobbits could drink almost as much as they could eat. Empty bottles lay strewn about the bed and on the floor. There had been a few minor accidents and stains of various colors spotted the bed and their clothing. But no one was complaining. They were quite completely drunk, balanced precariously against each other, trying to hold the other up in order to pour the liquids into the goblets, and not on the counterpane. Finally, they gave up and began drinking from the delicate crystal bottles themselves.

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*Meanwhile...at the Citadel, in the King's quarters*

Aragorn and Arwen were laughing and walking towards their rooms, arm in arm, very much enjoying one another's company. They walked past the guards with a nod and entered the room. Both stood transfixed with the mess that greeted their astonished eyes.

"What in the name of Eru has happened to our quarters????" Aragorn demanded in a yell. The guards rushed in, swords drawn, expecting to find a physical threat to the King and his Queen. They looked around the room, mouths agape, at a scene of total chaos. "Were you not here at your post all evening?" The King commanded.

"Yes, Your Majesties, and we heard nothing amiss that could have done such damage." One of the guards elbowed his counterpart and whispered in his ear.

"What are you whispering about? SPEAK! You have not caught me in the best of moods," Aragorn fixed a deadly look at each of the guards.

One of the guards cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, we know you have a special fondness for the periannth, and so thought your orders to let no one enter did not include them," he said nervously. He did not wish to be reduced in rank for his misjudgment, but knew it was best to be forthright with the King.

"Yes, that is true. I do not see what this has..." Aragorn's sentence drifted off. Now he noticed that his cabinet that held all of the spirits and wines, most gifts from regions being gathered into his realm, were in disarray or gone entirely. "Which of the periannth was allowed into my chambers?" he asked grimly.

"Your Highness, they all look the same to us, except of course, the Ringbearer," the guard said gulping.

"Describe him to me, and let us see if we can rule out the others," commanded the King.

"He had curly blond hair, and a pert face.... oh, and a twinkle in his eye. He said he was retrieving the decanters for you and your guests. Since he was a periannth, I deemed it was all right to allow him access. I beg your deepest pardon, My Lord, if I have erred in judgment, and this was not your wish." The older of the two guards was now on bent knee before Aragorn and Arwen. A light, girlish, giggle escaped behind Arwen's covered mouth. Aragorn, himself, was having trouble controlling his grin.

"You have done nothing wrong, my men. I will deal with the culprit myself, and, if I know my hobbits, it can only be one person," he smiled grimly at Arwen. "Shall we, my Lady, take a stroll to the Houses of Healing?"

She laughed outright, a fine clear sound like silver bells to the guards ears, "Of course, my husband, I would enjoy seeing the saviors of Middle Earth again, and I would not miss this for all the Mallorns in Lothlorien." She put her arm in Aragorn's and they walked, with purpose, towards the seventh gate and made their way to the Houses of Healing.

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Sam had no success all that day trying to get food into his Master. The times he had approached the room the door was either barred, or Frodo was asleep. Instead of waking him, he had retreated back to the kitchens and left the foods to be kept warm, until his Master awoke. But he had grown increasingly worried and impatient, and with the warmed tray in hand, now stood outside the barred door. He banged loudly on the door, "Mr. Merry, I know you're in there, open the door so I can bring Mr. Frodo somthin' to eat, you silly Brandybuck" he demanded.

"Itsss Ssam 'gin. Wha' dowedonow?" Frodo whispered very loudly to Merry who sat right next to him.

"We mus' stall, dea' couss'n. Ooh, hez gon' be tighd to be fit," Merry slurred.

Frodo broke into gales of laughter. " Yooo ...sai’.... i’... aulll...baacworsse, Mer'". Merry, realizing Frodo was right and laughed so hard he fell off the bed. Frodo looked over with a big wavering grin, "Ol' righ' down 'der, Mer'? He said slowly.

Merry just laughed in reply. Now the hammering on the door began again, this time it was Aragorn. "Gentlemen, I desire to speak with you, NOW!" he said with authority.

Frodo's and Merry's eyes became very wide and together they said "Ohhhhhh...” which caused more gales of laughter from them both. They tried to control themselves enough to clean up the strewn bottles and glasses, but Frodo was completely useless because of the tiredness he had been experiencing even before they started drinking. He lay there, unable to move, swaying slightly back and forth. Merry could not walk, let alone bend over and pick up the evidence of their plunder. He was afraid if he *did* bend over, he would never get back up. So, instead he crawled back up on the bed, with much assistance and began giggling with Frodo, until they both lay panting against the headboard. "Less hide it all 'nder 'ere," said Frodo, at least Merry thought that's what he said, as Frodo pointed to the covers.

Merry shook his head violently back and forth, "Nooo, Froo'oh, Araorn knowss I too' 'is ... 'is ...liq...liq...drinkin' stuff," Merry laughed.

Frodo was almost hysterical. "'ou call' me Froo'oh," then he burst into screams of laughter again.

************************************************************************

A large group had gathered outside the door by now, wondering what the problem was with the Ringbearer, and hoping it wasn't another relapse of some sort. Saleth, sent them away, one by one, saying it was all right and that they had it under control, which caused Aragorn to give Saleth a questioning look. Of the group, Faramir was allowed to stay and offer his assistance if needed. When he saw Aragorn, he smiled.

"What, fair Steward, is so funny?" asked the King with a smirk.

 

"Only that I may have inadvertently helped create this little party by giving a drunken Merry passage to and from the Citadel, this evening." He said with a chuckle.

"Merry. I knew it was Merry. Who else could it have been? Pippin's laid up, or I would have suspected him. Sam would never do this to his Master after he's been sick so long. Only Merry would be free to wander, and plunder, at will," he grinned and then grimaced. "Frodo hit his head this morning on the table when he fell. It is very unwise for him to be drinking anything stronger than milk or juice," he murmured.

"Will he be all right, Mr. Strider? Is he in any danger?" asked an anxious Sam.

"I would have to see him to know, Sam, but yes, he could become very ill very suddenly if the knock on the head was more serious than I initially thought it was. We need to get in there and get this rectified, and quick. Saleth?" The King now looked genuinely concerned over Frodo's welfare, no longer grinning and chuckling at the partying hobbits on the other side of the door.

"Yes, My Liege, I have a way to lift the bar. I shall return shortly, and we will enter," he said and walked briskly away.

************************************************************************

Frodo began to hum a song that Merry was not acquainted with. "Cousn' 'ave 'oou bnn 'oldin' oust on mee? Ssng fo' me, Froo'oh," Merry quite unintelligibly said.

 

Frodo smiled a lazy, drunken smile and leaned over against Merry. "I 'avn't finnssht it ye', Merr'," he slurred.

"Wellll, ssng wha' 'oou 'ave den, pleess?" Merry whined.

"Ohh, verr' well," and then Frodo's sweet tenor voice began. He slurred less while singing, and Merry sat transfixed listening to the lovely refrains of his cousin’s clear voice.

O, there's a garden that lay in a green land

The hills and vales they call to me.

I yearn to walk the flowering hillsides

The colorful blossoms, a balm to me.

And in the gardens of my dear Shireland

There dwells a lass so fair to see.

With hair of gold and blue ribbons streaming

And sweet red lips she's saves for me.

My journey done, I'll see my Shirelands

The dales and streams, they succor me.

A soul and heart broken from burden,

A gold haired lass for company.

She dances 'oer the dells and hillsides

Her hair a sail of gold light to see

A smile so bright when she spies me walkin'

With sweet, soft lips, she kisses me.

Within the dell, a great tree's agrowin'

A blue-ribboned lass, she waits for me.

A pledge of love, soft kisses to sweet lips

Our happiness for all to see.

A hole so grand behind a green door,

We fill the rooms with children fair.

They frolic in the greening Shirelands

A blur of ribbons and golden hair.

O, there's a garden that lies in the Shirelands

A fair haired lass, blue ribbons to see.

A home once empty, in need of laughter

Now filled with love and family."

 

"O, Froo'oh, tha' 'as so sad, lofflee, 'ut so sad too," Merry said, wiping his face.

 

"I wro' it fo' Sssam 'n Wosee. Fo' win 'dey ge' marwee whe' we ge' back," he smiled at Merry, but he had tears in his eyes too.

"Froo'oh, tha' sounn'ed almo' (hic)...sounn'ed almo' like Bag'nd. Yoorr son'gg I mean. Wass'it?" Merry looked at Frodo with deep concern.

"Yess, i' wass. I wann' Ssam to 'ave i', an' livv' 'der wiff Wossee," he said.

"Bu' Frowho, ware will yoou liff'?" asked Merry, becoming more distraught. He knew Arwen had said Frodo could sail in her place to the undying lands, and also he worried that Frodo would give into the depression and possibly take his own life.

"Welll, iff 'del 'ave me, I wou' like to liff wif 'em. Itss big 'nough fo' all 'o us, if itss alwigh' wif 'em." Frodo said sadly. "It neese a fammwe, an' I don' wan' ta liff 'lone aneemo'," Frodo smiled at Merry. Merry was so relieved he smiled back.

"Thas' why 'oore de smar' one, Frow'ho. Thass a grea' idea." Merry swallowed hard. He was beginning to feel abit nauseous and after looking at Frodo again, he saw that his cousin was also looking a little green around the edges. "Ell, wee bess finiss 'dis off, so therss no evid....evid....so therss non' leff," he finished very awkwardly. Frodo giggled again at Merry's avoiding certain words in favor of those that were easier to pronounce in their inebriated state. Merry refilled both glasses, which was a difficult task in and of itself, and they brought them up, clinked them together, spilling a large portion of the drink, and gulped the remainder down in one swallow. Then they both sagged back, boneless and not a little ill, and watched the room spin around them.

************************************************************************

The whole entourage had stood outside the door transfixed by the haunting ballad; most had tears in their eyes. "Mr. Frodo always did have a fine voice. It's been so long since I've heard him sing, I don't think I've ever heard anything so beautiful," Sam sniffed.

 

Aragorn smiled a little, although the song had seemed so sad to him. He knew Frodo had no one to return to in the Shire, but that Sam did, and his heart was touched by the gift that Frodo would, one day, present to Sam and his Rosie.

 

Saleth returned with a lever like device and, reaching in between the door and the jam, lifting the bar. They all moved forward as one and gasped at the site of the two completely drunk, and soon to be sick, by the looks of things, hobbits sitting precariously on the bed. The room was littered with empty glass decanters and goblets. The covers and floor had a large amount of spilled vintage, and each hobbit sported a number of stains where they had missed their mouths while drinking. Aragorn was in front, and could not help breaking into a wide grin. Arwen began to giggle at the sight. Sam was not so charitable. All he saw was the condition of his Master and began to turn his wrath on Merry, a known culprit of drinking rampages. But, before he could start, Frodo looked up and with those beautiful blue eyes and spied Aragorn. He smiled the largest smile Aragorn had ever seen and wavered precariously towards the side of the bed. Aragorn almost burst out laughing; they looked so bedraggled and limbless. But he noticed that Frodo seemed happier, although he was uncertain as to whether this was from too much drink or the lightening of his burden by speaking with Merry.

 

"Araagrn, how delifult' to see 'ou! An' 'da latee Ahwen, ass well. Soo goo' t' see 'ou again, My Quee'," he grinned and made to bow forward, but lost his precarious hold on balance and fell heavily to the floor, in a tumble of limbs, bottles and blankets, instead.

 

TBC


	36. Chapter 36

Disclaimers: All characters, places and events are the sole property of the Tolkien Estate. I receive no money for this piece of fiction, only the satisfaction of writing about the land and peoples that he so beautifully depicted.

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 36

 

Frodo swallowed thickly. His tongue felt like it was covered with cotton and was heavy in his mouth. He moaned and slowly opened his eyes. Staring down at him was Aragorn, Saleth and the lady Arwen. He groaned again and made to get up but was pushed back down by Aragorn.

"Fro'oh, you all right?" Merry asked thickly as he peeked over the edge of the bed.

"Fine. I'm fine, Mer'", Frodo whispered more to himself than anyone else in the room.

"What do you mean getting him all drunk and out of sorts...have you lost your mind?" Frodo recognized Sam's plaintive voice.

"Sam...Ssam no' so loud, my frien'" moaned Frodo.

"Here Frodo, drink this." A cup was pressed to his lips and he swallowed.

"Ohhhh....thas awful," he said turning his head away at the foul taste. "Uggh. Whawastha?" he asked.

Aragorn smiled, "The cure for what ails you, young hobbit”, he said.

"Iss the worss one yet, Ar'gorn. Rathhrr be drun’," he slurred.

"You say that now but in a few hours you are going to feel quite unsettled and ill, best to take it now, Frodo." Aragorn held the Ringbearer close to his chest and tried again to bring the cup up, but Frodo was having none of it and pushed the cup away.

"No," he said thickly. "’eavemealone."

"Perhaps I could assist you, my King." Frodo gulped. It was the Lady Arwen and he simply could not refuse the great lady, manners would not permit it.

"Pleass, no, I donn wan’..."she brought the cup to his lips and tipped his head back forcing the liquid down his throat. She blew a soft, fragrant exhalation into his face and he swallowed, wondering at the feelings of security that washed over him. His stubbornness returned and he struggled to get away but she held him in a surprisingly strong grasp. Finally he gasped and coughed when at last he could breath.

"There, there Frodo. It will relieve you of any discomfort and you will sleep like a baby," she murmured.

"Noddababy....donn wanna slee’..." Frodo moaned. Unfortunately, it was too late and he felt his eyes drifting shut as strong arms carried him to a soft bed and covered with thick blankets.

 

********************************************************

"Master Brandybuck! What do you mean getting Frodo so drunk! Don't you remember he hit his head this morning? He shouldn't have had anything to drink with a possible head injury." Aragorn, incensed, was pacing angrily back and forth in front of Frodo's bed.

"'mmm sorry Ar'gorn. Fragoh ‘bout dat. Fro'oh needed a lillle somethin' to tae the edch off affer he tol' me his nighmare," Merry's face crumpled. "He'll be alwigh’ wonnhe?" he asked. The King suddenly felt very bad for yelling at Merry who had done a great thing getting Frodo to talk.

"Did he tell you his dreams, Merry?" he asked sitting Merry beside him on the bed.

"Therre so horribll, Ar'gorn. I only hope in ‘ime, dey will become lessso for hissake," Merry then went into detail about Frodo's nightmares. "We shoul’ s’ay with ‘im case dey come back," Merry said worriedly. "To calm ‘im."

Aragorn smiled and wrapped an arm around the hobbit. "You're a good lad, Merry. Frodo is lucky to have all of you by his side."

Merry grinned up at the King. "Thangs Ar'gorn. I love Fro'oh somush. I donn wan’im to suffer an’more," he slurred.

"We'll all stay with him, Mr. Merry. Safety in numbers," said Sam. They all made themselves comfortable around Frodo's bed. Sam and Merry curled up next to Frodo and soon they were snoring gently. Frodo began to toss and turn lightly as darkness moved into his mind and sought to chase away the peacefulness of a few hours ago.

 

******************************************************

 

He was in the tower of Cirith Ungol and orcs were surrounding him. He tried to back away, to become smaller thinking they might overlook him, but they saw him. They spat, kicked, and threw him onto the cold, hard stones. He begged them to leave him alone, to have mercy but they only laughed and taunted him, pulling at his hair, his clothes. He felt helpless and weak and he cried out. This was what Arwen Undomiel heard as she sat watching him fight the unseen horrors of his dreams. She reached out to him and slipped the necklace she had once given him, into his hand. The jewel shone with a blinding light as it lit the small palm from within. It had been dropped, weeks ago, while the Ringbearer had teetered precariously from the seventh level above the city, ready to plummet to his death while in the clutches of the 'brain fever'. He had dropped the jewel and it had been recovered and given back to the Queen. Now she placed it around his neck, then she bent and kissed his forehead, whispering a blessing to the Valar to watch over this small, yet courageous, being. Frodo sighed. Arwen placed her hand over his forehead and closed her eyes. She could see what Frodo saw and she inhaled the smell of the unwashed bodies and the fear scent that was palpable from the hobbit. She looked down at Frodo, his eyes locked with hers and she saw they glistened with tears.

"I would not wish you to be here, Milady. I would nod wish you to see this torture," he cried, to the dream Arwen.

"I am here for you, Frodo. We all are," Arwen said. She began to shimmer with a golden light that seemed to emanate from her very soul. Suddenly, Frodo was surrounded by Sam, Merry, Pippin, Gandalf, Boromir, Faramir, Legolas, Gimli, Saleth and Aragorn. All wore shining armor and held great swords out in front of them. The orcs cringed back at the sight of such a foe. "I told you we would be there for you, Frodo," said Merry.

"They'll not get a lick in this time, Mr. Frodo. They'll have to go through your Sam first," said Sam as he lunged.

"Be gone, you have no power here!” yelled Gandalf as he sprang forward into the fray.

"Indeed, Frodo Baggins, it would be my honor to fight by your side," said Boromir. Frodo began to weep at this. Faramir jumped in beside Boromir and together, they created a clean swatch where once there had stood towering orcs. Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli swept through, pulling Frodo to safety, they smiled as they charged into the thick of the battle. Arwen too was doing quite well with her sword. She cleanly beheaded an orc and then breezed by Frodo to stand beside her husband. One by one, the enemy fell until they were none left standing. Frodo felt sleep come upon him. He closed his eyes as he was enveloped in the loving embrace of the Lady Arwen's arms. Safe. He was safe and a peace filled him as he slipped blissfully into slumber.

Later, as his eyes cracked open he saw that those who loved him surrounded him on all sides. His hand flicked up to his throat and there he grasped the Lady Arwen's pendant, securely fastened, about his neck.

"How do you feel, Ringbearer?" A musical voice asked. Frodo turned and saw that Arwen was beside him. She held his hand in hers and softly caressed it.

"I am well, My Lady, thank you."

"Your dreams were troubled, but have passed.” She smiled shyly down at him.

"Will they return?" Frodo asked hesitantly.

"They may. However, you have the pendant of the Evenstar to guide and protect you. Always wear it, Frodo. It will draw strength of numbers to it when you need them most," she whispered.

"You were all there for me, fighting beside me, giving me strength in my hour of need," Frodo murmured as he lightly clutched the star pendant.

"As we shall always be there to give succor to you. Now sleep, rest, as you are weary. When you awake again we will be here for you." She lightly touched his face and his eyes slowly closed and he slipped into a dreamless realm where there were no orcs or towers or eyes.

When next he woke, Pippin was standing beside him perched on a pair of children's crutches.

"I began to grow lonely in my little room and so have sought you out, cousin.” He smiled his endearing smile. "Are you hungry? I am famished. Shall I fetch us some bread and fruit?" he asked eagerly. Frodo smiled slowly.

"I am not hungry, Pippin. I fear I have made myself uncomfortably drunk and ruined my appetite."

"Frodo! How could you? And not even ask me to join you?" Pippin looked terribly hurt.

"Here, Pip, lay down before you fall down. It was Merry's idea, so you'll have to talk with him, I dare say." Frodo replied.

"Merry, you didn't save me any drink?" Pip nudged Merry roughly.

"Ummmph," came the muffled reply. Merry raised his tousled head and looked around the room blearily. Gandalf, Aragorn, and Arwen all were gone leaving just the hobbits on the huge bed. "Frodo, did you sleep?" he asked.

"Yes, Merry, and all of you were in my dream. You all fought with me and destroyed the orcs. The Lady Arwen has gifted me her pendant for my protection a second time and I could feel the power of friendship helping and guiding me. He reached out and touched Merry and Pippin's hands. Sam smiled at them all and placed his hand on top.

"Boromir was there too," Frodo whispered. There were cries of surprise and then Frodo was engulfed by hobbits. They embraced and held onto each other until they were all weeping at the renewed pain of the loss of the strong Gondorian.

"Poor Mr. Boromir, he weren't a bad man. That Ring jes’ took control and he couldn't fight it no how," Sam said tearfully.

"No Sam, it wasn't his fault. The Ring was able to twist his thoughts and feelings so that he heard what he wanted to hear. He was brave and valiant even if he had a momentary lapse of judgment. I cannot fault him. I too had a lapse of judgment. Can you ever forgive me Sam for telling you to go home? I did not mean it Sam. I wasn't thinking clearly to trust Gollum over you. You are, and have always been, my dearest friend." Frodo's eyes shined with unshed tears and Sam reached over and pulled him to him.

"Of course, Mr. Frodo. You weren't yourself. That cursed Ring had overtaken you. Your Sam loves you, sir, and I am always there for you, Mr. Frodo. Don't you worry none about it. You ain’t never gonna get rid of Samwise Gamgee," he smiled through his tears and Frodo laughed.

"I certainly hope I can somehow repay the debt I owe you, Sam. The quest would have failed for certain had you not followed me.” Frodo's eyes became glassy and he stared off into the distance.

"Enough of this weeping, I say. How about a hearty meal of soup and bread, Mr. Frodo?" Frodo's face blanched. He gulped. "Oh...Sam...I...don't think that's ....such a good idea...ohhh" he looked quickly around for a basin and began to gasp when none was seen. "Oh Sam...help me!! Sam quickly jumped down and ran to the cabinet. He found a small pan and ran back to the bed. Frodo was desperately trying not to throw up, but as soon as Sam started climbing roughly up on the bed, he lost his battle and grabbing the pan from Sam and retched. He collapsed back against the pillows, pale and shaking, sweat running off his forehead. He closed his eyes and took deep breathes trying to calm his stomach. Merry gave him sips of water, which he rinsed his mouth. "No food. No ....can't eat, Sam." he said between chapped lips.

"Mr. Frodo, you *have* to eat something. Maybe just some milk toast or fruit, even." Sam dabbed at Frodo's face. Frodo swallowed thickly.

"Can't now, Sam," he rasped as his eyes slipped shut.

"I can't believe you did this, Mr. Merry. Look how sick his is," Sam said with exasperation.

"Sorry Sam, I didn't think anyone could get sick on Elven wine and it seemed like a good idea at the time," said Merry apologetically.

"Sam, how about some applesauce or custard and toast?" volunteered Pippin. "That always makes me feel better."

Frodo groaned and twisted to lie on his side. "Pippin....please....no" he whispered.

Aragorn entered then with a light tray. "Sorry, Frodo, but we need to get something light in your stomach. I've some sweetened milk toast here that should set well." He smiled down at the miserable hobbit.

"No, please....justle’mebe,"moaned Frodo.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, my friend." Aragorn moved to sit behind the Ringbearer and braced the small body against his chest. He then very slowly began to spoon the warm milk mixture into the hobbit's mouth. This was made more difficult by the obstinance of the Ringbearer. "Please...." Frodo turned his head. "No more....Ar'gorn, please" he moaned.

"Just a few small bites, little one," Aragorn whispered. He dabbed at the small mouth with a cloth and his eyes took in the brilliant blue of the hobbit's. They shimmered with unshed tears. "Oh, Frodo," he said with empathy, "I am sorry, my friend." Frodo's lips quivered and he tried to turn away to hide his humiliation.

"I jus' feel so miserable," he groaned. Aragorn washed his face and poured a cup of mint tea that he sweetened and pressed to Frodo's lips. It smelled heavenly and Frodo drank it thirstily.

"Easy, easy… no gulping. Slow sips, Frodo," Aragorn murmured. Frodo slowed his gulps to sips and then his eyes drifted shut. "Frodo. Frodo, wake up, my friend. Frodo," Aragorn repeated but the Ringbearer was unconscious.

"Is he all right, Mr. Strider?" asked Sam worriedly.

"He's exhausted, Sam. Let's make him comfortable with some warm bricks and pillows then let him rest." Sam gathered the pillows all around his Master then covered him in a down comforter. Heated bricks were placed in toweling and laid next to the thin body. A ragged sigh escaped the hobbit, but he looked at peace. Sam smoothed back his curls and kissed his forehead.

"Sleep well, me dear," Sam whispered. Aragorn smiled and then ushered the three remaining hobbits from the room. He looked back at Frodo. "Rest well, Savior of Middle Earth," he said with a smile. He then closed the door quietly behind him as he left.

TBC


	37. Chapter 37

Disclaimers: All characters, places and events are the sole property of the Tolkien Estate. I receive no money for this piece of fiction, only the satisfaction of writing about the land and peoples that he so beautifully depicted.

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 37

Frodo awoke some hours later. He lay very still, taking his bearings. His head ached with the dull spasms common to an encounter with too much drink. He lay motionless, swallowing several times, trying to quell the nausea he thought would overwhelm him. How could he have been so foolish. He hadn't been in the peak of health to begin with and now he felt awful. He took a deep breath and looked around the room slowly. He was alone but he needed to use the chamber pot, so he slowly moved his legs to hang over the bed. He pushed himself up and his forearms trembled violently with this small effort. Finally, he was upright with his feet touching the floor. The room swam in and out of his vision and he knew he would be unable to prevent the bile from rising...he was going to be sick.

"Ohhh, Eru help me," he whispered. He leaned over the bed, but he wasn't fast enough and he threw up on the sheets and comforter. A sheen of sweat lay clammy on his pale skin and he thought he would pass out. Instead, he was able to right himself and pull the chamber pot out from under the bed. He sank down on it and rested while he relieved himself. Once he was finished, he decided to wash his hands and see if he could find some cold water to drink. He was desperately thirsty. He staggered towards the door, and headed down the corridor. There must be water somewhere nearby. He looked in each doorway as he passed. One room had several wounded, the next a room where herbs were drying the next a small sitting room. He ran his hand along the wall to keep from collapsing, he was beginning to think going to look for water was perhaps not such a good idea. He turned around and walked the other way thinking maybe he could find Merry and Pippin's room. He had to stop and lean his forehead against the cool stone. It was wonderfully cold against his face, and he slumped down to the floor wanting to put his whole body up against it. He closed his eyes thinking he would rest for just a moment. He decided to pull himself up, he nearly fell, the nausea and vertigo rushing in waves over him. Finally, it passed and he took tremulous steps down to where he believed, Merry and Pippin's room was. A huge sigh of relief escaped his lips and he peered in the doorway. Pippin was having the bandages changed on his leg and he was trying desperately, to itch the leg as Aragorn unwound layer after layer of gauze.

"Stop it, Peregrine. You'll infect it by scratching. I'll wash it and then we'll put a balm on it to soothe the itching." Aragorn said with a laugh.

"Strider, it's driving me crazy. I can't stand it." He pulled the leg away and began scratching in earnest. A scuffling noise caused Strider to turn in his seat while he simultaneously slapped at Pippin's clawing hands. Frodo stood in the doorway swaying slowly back and forth. The King quickly placed Pippin's leg on the bed and leaped towards the hobbit. As he reached him, Frodo collapsed. He moaned as Strider picked him up and bore him to Pippin's bed. Pippin slid over to make room for his cousin.

"Frodo, Frodo why were you out wandering, cousin? Aragorn, is he going to be all right?"

Aragorn sighed, "He's feverish and pale. Let's see if we can't get him some liquids," he said with concern.

"Water, please, Strider. 'M so thirsty," Frodo gasped out.

"Aragorn! Aragorn! Frodo's missing," came a ruckus in the hallway. Sam and Saleth burst through the doorway with Merry stumbling along after a few moments. "Mr. Frodo! You gave us an awful fright, you did." Sam was near tears he had been so frantic.

"Saleth, we need to get Frodo's temperature down. I am not certain what is the cause of the fever, but he has been throwing up....perhaps he is simply dehydrated. Do you have something cool we can give him? Water or juice? Perhaps some salted chicken broth?" the King asked. Saleth knew the King was overly protective of the Ringbearer so he was not surprised at the multiple requests.

"Yes, My Liege. We have some flavored ices as well. I'll see that they are brought along with ice water. Perhaps some more of the willow bark tea would lower his fever."

"Nooo tea jus' water," mumbled Frodo.

"Let's run a cool bath for him and then dose him with some athelas. I believe he can handle it if we make it weak enough," Aragorn instructed. Saleth brought kettles and began heating the water over the fire. When these were boiling, Aragorn added the herb to the tub and poured the boiling water over it. Next, he mixed the hot water with the cool until the tub was filled and a sweet smelling aroma hung on the air.

"Sam, please help me attend your Master," Aragorn asked.

"Of course, Mr. Strider," Sam quickly bent over Frodo and began to remove his soiled nightshirt. He placed toweling around his Master to cover him and help keep him warm. Frodo was trembling violently by the time Aragorn picked him up and slowly lowered him, towels and all, into the copper tub.

"How does that feel, Frodo?" asked the King as he rinsed the curly hair and then soaped it with the lavender soap. He carefully tipped the hobbit's head back to avoid getting water and lather in his eyes. And then he rinsed all of the sweat and vomit from the curls until they hung in ringlets across the hobbit's forehead.

"Feels nice, Ar'gorn. Thank you," he murmured. Next, Sam lathered a cloth with the sweet smelling soap and while talking in a low, soothing voice, began to wash the rest of his Master.

"You're gonna feel right as rain, Mr. Frodo, jes you see. Your Sam's gonna take care of you. Strider, what's wrong with him? Why's he so hot?" asked Sam with concern.

"I am uncertain except to say that it was perhaps too early for Frodo to...indulge...as he did. We must get him hydrated and then he should feel better, he just simply was not strong enough to drink his normal quota of Elven alcohol," Aragorn smiled wanly.

"But he was fine, he said he felt good after his talk with Mr. Merry," Sam questioned.

"Sam, you must remember that Frodo's had one trauma after another and telling Merry his nightmares could not have been an easy thing to do. His body is feeling stress in combination with his weight loss, lack of essential nutrients and liquids, this was simply more than he could handle right now," Aragorn tried to explain to the devoted gardener.

"Will he be all right, sir?" asked Sam.

"Yes, Sam, I think he's simply exhausted and Merry's timing could not have been worse," the King grimaced.

"I mean to talk to that Brandybuck. I still can't believe he didn't use his good old fashioned hobbit sense and allowed this to happen to Mr. Frodo," Sam said angrily.

"Merry meant well, Sam. He knew he would never get Frodo to speak aloud of his darkest fears without first coercing him. Since hobbits have a weakness for strong drink, he undoubtedly thought this would be the best way," Aragorn murmured. "Don't be too hard on him."

Frodo was now clean and Aragorn lifted him out of the tub, drained the water and replaced it with equal amounts of hot and cold. He wrapped the hobbit in fluffy towels, and toweled his hair. Then he wrapped him in a warmed blanket and lay him close to Pippin.

"Sam, get Merry and set him to helping his younger cousin to bathe please," Aragorn asked.

"Yes sir, Mr. Strider." Sam left to search for Merry. Merry wasn't far and he was near inconsolable in a far corner of the room. Pippin was perched on his good leg while he aimlessly scratched at the other, speaking quietly to his older cousin.

"It's all right, Mer', he's going to be fine, you'll see. Our cousin is made of sterner stuff than that," said Pip.

"Oh, Pip, it's all my fault. I jus' wanned him to tell me about his nighmares so that they'd all goaway. Wha' have I done? I couldn't bear to hurt him, Pip, I love him you know," a very drunk and teary Merry lamented.

"I know you do. We all do, Mer. We all love our Frodo, don't we Sam," Merry looked around sharply, almost falling over in the process. He was expecting a rebuke from the gardener for his folly with the spirits. But Sam's face was full of compassion.

"It's all right, Mr. Merry. We'll take care of him together, we will." Sam said gently. "Now, Mr. Strider wants you to wash Mr. Pippin really well so we can re-bandage that leg of his, can you do that for us Mr. Merry?" he asked.

"Pip, Sam's not an'ry with me, are you Sam?" asked Merry.

"I was pretty upset when I saw Mr. Frodo's condition, but I'm not angry anymore, Mr. Merry. I know you was trying to help ‘em some, I think we should just treat him real gentle like for the next little while," Sam said. "Let's get Mr. Pippin soaking in the tub and then we can check on Mr. Frodo, what do ya say, Mr. Merry?" Merry beamed.

"I say that sounds like a splennid idea, Sam," he moved to Pippin and together they brought the tween to the tub, stripped him and helped him into the bath. "How's that feel, Pip?"

"Ahhh...lovely! Oh water hot is a noble thing!" replied Pippin with a satisfied sigh and a small smile.

 

TBC


	38. Chapter 38

Disclaimers: All characters, places and events are the sole property of the Tolkien Estate. I receive no money for this piece of fiction, only the satisfaction of writing about the land and peoples that he so beautifully depicted.

 

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 38

Food. He was in search of a meal, as he soared across the landscape, a solitary witness to the rape and destruction of the once green and beautiful land below. There had once been food almost everywhere, so much so that he had never given it a second thought. But food, for the longest time now, was *all* he and his kind, had thought of; a daily struggle to collect even the most meager amount in order to keep his heart beating within his small chest. So many of his kind had already perished. He knew in some small place within his mind, that those that walked upon the land were the cause, yet he was incapable of laying blame of any kind. He only knew that his fellow hatchlings and, in turn, his own brood and mate, had fallen and ceased to be, in the months that the wingless ones had fought the great blackness that had covered and desecrated the land below him. He felt the ebb of life beginning to fade within his own body and knew that his time was growing short, that he would die without the necessary nourishment. He spied an opening in the stone wall he currently circled and with a last burst of precious energy, cautiously made for it. He landed with a flutter upon the sill and surveyed the room and its single occupant with a wary eye. Across the dim room sat a half eaten loaf of bread on a low table. He scrutinized the inhabitant of the room with a hesitancy born of instinct. The wingless occupant appeared to be resting. He was unusual; small, with dark hair, he lay perfectly still, and for one moment, the fledgling wondered if he too, had perished like so many of the other wingless ones he had seen far below as he soared above the fields. Sensing no immediate threat or danger from this small one, he flew across the room, landing upon the table. After another quick peek at the room's inhabitant, he began to devour small crumbs of the loaf, always keeping one eye upon the bed's occupant.

*****

A small fluttering sound, a gentle movement of the air, brought Frodo slowly from his slumber. For a moment, he left his eyes closed, drinking in the scent of the numerous flowers growing outside. Sam had gently coaxed the small shoots back to health in the garden below Frodo's window. A light breeze gently slipped through the window, bringing the heady aroma of roses, athelas, mint and elanor. It cut through the stale, sick room air like a knife, bringing a satisfied smile to Frodo's pale face. He subconsciously, began his morning ritual of taking a mental assessment of his body's aches and pains, and found that other than a small headache, he felt remarkably well. With a start, his eyes flew open. He felt *well*! For the first time in an age, he felt WELL! With a smile he lay in silent wonder that something as simple and common as felling "well", something most beings never even consciously *thought* of, and therefore, took for granted, could fill him with such a feeling of joy. A skittering sound brought him out of his reverie, and he looked across the room, noticing for the first time, the addition of his new roommate.

He chuckled softly, "Why, greetings my small friend," he whispered. The bird stopped his feasting and gazed uncertainly at the hobbit. Frodo could see that the bird was trying to decide between fleeing or continuing to feast. "You do not need to leave on my account, or fear me in any way, I assure you. You are most welcome. It has been long since I have had such a colorful visitor to talk to, especially one who will just listen, without comment, to the ramblings of the 'Ringbearer'," Frodo said quietly. The last word was spoken with a note of disdain. The bird listened, without once interrupting his meal, his eyes never leaving the speaker. Instinct made him remain alert, yet his hunger was great, so he stayed, listening to the strange clipped, yet lyrical, sounds coming from this particular wingless one.

"Oh, how I despise the title 'Ringbearer'," Frodo mused to himself. "But never mind me, you truly are a colorful little thing. I have seen so few of your kind about the city. I can only imagine how this war has affected you and your kind, or any animal for that matter," Frodo's eyes became sad and distant as he thought of the devastation of, not only his world, but of the land and its other inhabitants. He slowly turned his head and began to push himself up. His arms trembled violently, but eventually, he achieved his goal, and leaned back against the headboard. Panting and sweating, he looked about the room trying to find the small bird. He hadn't seen the bird flee, but imagined that he had startled it by his movements and caused it to depart. He sighed sadly and let his head fall back against the headboard, closing his eyes as he tried to quell the dizziness and nausea that assailed him. He wondered at his feelings of loss that the absence of the bird had caused. A light knock on the door caused him to slowly open his eyes. Sam entered and smiled at seeing his master sitting up.

"Mornin', sir," he said cheerily. "'Tis a beautiful day, what with all the flowers bloomin' and the sun showin' his face, it is," he chirped.

"That it is, Sam. How I would love to see all the fruits of your labors, my friend," Frodo smiled.

Sam blushed as he brought a tray of food to Frodo's bedside. "Twernt nothin', really. This city has lots of abandoned gardens, I jes' pulled out some o' the weeds so's the little flowers could show their colors, is all," he said shyly.

It was not lost on Frodo that his friend had lovingly tended the patch of ground beneath his window the most. Sam had worked diligently to plant and nurture the most fragrant and eye catching blooms, including many of Frodo's personal favorites, out of love for his master. Frodo smiled at Sam. How he loved the small gardener. Such a friend he had, to go through all that he had and care for him with such devotion. He felt unworthy of such a person and vowed to somehow, become well enough to show the gardener how much he appreciated him. Become well... he thought about that for a moment. Becoming well was what Sam wished most for him. It was a start, he thought. He decided he would make more of an effort to recover his health and strength, if only to make his friend happy. "What have you brought me today, Sam?" he asked. "I am actually a little hungry this morning," he lied, as he received a delighted smile from his friend.

"Let me see....we have some raspberries in sweet clotted cream, a nice cinnamon custard, a dish of applesauce with some buttered toast squares, and a nice tall glass of that orange juice you like so well." He looked expectantly into Frodo's eyes.

Frodo smiled, as he swallowed back the nausea that threatened him, "Sam, you are so good to me. It all sounds wonderful," his voice quavered causing Sam to look worriedly up at his face.

"Is something wrong, Mr. Frodo? Does somethin' not sound appealin'? If so, I'll make sure an remove it so's not to make ya ill..." Sam hurriedly searched the tray for the offending food item.

Frodo reached over and placed a thin hand on Sam's. "No Sam, it all sounds fine. I was just thinking about how much you do for me, how much you've *done* for me, and how I can never repay you for such devotion. If not for you, Sam, I doubt we would be here now," Frodo spoke in a whisper. He had tears in his eyes and looked away, hoping they had gone unnoticed.

"Oh, Mr. Frodo, I didn't do naught but what was needed or expected of me. 'Tis my job...an...well...if I was ta' be so bold, sir," Sam gulped and looked shyly down at his feet, "I would do anything for you, sir. I always felt, well, like we was almost like... 'erm... kinfolk... like brothers or even friends, mayhap," he hesitated, sure that he had overstepped and that Frodo would laugh at the audacity of his servant saying such a thing and send him away.

He risked a look up at Frodo, and saw that his master was looking lovingly back at him. "Yes, Sam," Frodo said tremulously, "that's just what it is. We are friends, the best of friends," he whispered with a smile. Sam beamed as he pulled his master to him and embraced him so tightly that Frodo gasped at the strength of the hug. He hugged Sam back as fiercely as was possible for his frail form. Sam quickly became aware of just how weak his master was and gently eased his bear hug and lay his master back upon the pillows. Frodo was panting slightly, but smiled reassuringly up at Sam.

"Well...we had better see to your breakfast sir, or it'll be nigh on inedible," Sam said huskily.

The flutter of wings caused Frodo to turn his head quickly towards the window. "Well, I wondered where you had got off to, and not even a by our leave given," he murmured gently. The bird cocked his head as if in question to the remark. Sam turned a questioning gaze at his master as he gaped at the small intruder. "Sam, allow me to introduce you to my newest friend. Bird, Sam...Sam, Bird," Frodo said with a smile. Sam smiled and bowed slowly so as not to startle the creature. The bird only cocked his head curiously at the gesture.

"Samwise Gamgee at your service, and your family's," Sam said, giving the standard greeting from the Shire.

"I caught this colorful inhabitant of the city, filching my bread this morning," Frodo smiled, but Sam frowned slightly, not liking the idea of anyone or anything taking food away from his master. "We had quite the conversation, mostly one sided, I'm afraid," Frodo winked and this made Sam giggle a bit. "Until he decided he had other business to attend to," he ended with a slight wistfulness.

"Why, Mr. Frodo, if I didn't know better, I'd say that upset you some, him leavin', an' all," Sam said with surprise.

Frodo looked up at Sam a bit abashed. "Well, Sam, in all honesty, it did make me feel a bit like being deserted, I suppose." He gave Sam an embarrassed look. "Sam, the whole time I carried the Ring, did you ever notice how animals, the horses and ponies, even birds, reacted to me?" Frodo asked quietly, his eyes moved slowly from the bird to Sam's face.

Being held in that earnest blue gaze, Sam swallowed thickly and looked away nervously. "'Twasn't you, Mr. Frodo, it was that Thing. They could feel the evil of it, they could," Sam said quickly. "You know that, sir. Animals 'ave always loved you. I remember once you even got a bird ta eat from your hand...that was somethin' ta see, I remember," Sam said earnestly and smiled at the memory.

"I remember that too, Sam." Frodo's eyes shifted back to the bird who was busy preening his feathers, giving them only cursory glances now. "I suppose that's why it is important, no, *very* important to me, Sam", Frodo's blue eyes shifted quickly back to the gardener's hazel ones with desperate intensity, "that they don't *sense* that evil still.

Sam's whole body jerked at this statement. That his kind and wonderful master, could even think that he still held some of the Ring's evil, was abhorrent to him. He released a gasp, causing the bird to move nervously down the windowsill away from them. Frodo reached out, without looking, and lightly laid his hand on Sam's to calm him. "Mr. Frodo, you are not evil. You are the kindest, most generous and gentlest of hobbits. I won't be standin' here listening to you say otherwise, 'cause it's simply not true, sir," Sam whispered vehemently.

"I appreciate your devotion, Sam, but you see how it is, don't you?" Frodo's eyes bore into Sam's, pleading for understanding. "I have to *know* if 'they' still sense something. If carrying and," he paused and swallowed hard, his eyes closed and he grimaced as if in pain, "wearing the Ring has changed me in such a way that they still *feel* the presence of evil." Sam eyes filled with tears and he made to refute this statement, but Frodo slowly held up his bandaged had to stop him. "Please Sam, I *have* to know. It is very important to me, my friend, whether you agree or not," Frodo's gaze was sad as he searched Sam's face. Slowly, he looked back towards the bird. The bird chirped a quick note, bringing a smile to the older hobbit's face. Sam smiled as well, just to see Frodo's face alight with a real smile, one that touched his eyes, not like the usual ones he used to placate and reassure those around him. He looked over at the bird. Frodo reached over to the tray, and broke off a small corner of the toast, placing it invitingly, at arms length from him, on the large bed. The bird followed his movements and eyed the toast warily. Sam subconsciously held his breath, praying that this small creature could somehow restore his master's belief in himself, with the simple act of accepting the morsel. Frodo stared, first expectantly, then sadly at the small visitor. He lay still as a statue seemingly willing the small animal to please, please, trust him and see him as something worthwhile and good instead of the dark, black, soulless thing that was the alternative. Just when Sam feared it was simply not to be, the bird swooped down and snatched the crumb as he flew up to the wall sconce above the sideboard. Frodo's face broke into a beatific smile, causing Sam to release the held breath and wonder at the look of relief on his master's face. "It's a start, Sam," he whispered.

"Aye, sir, that it is", Sam said with a look of relief.

"So... breakfast," Frodo looked at the seemingly endless array of food set before him, "I am absolutely famished," he said cheerily.

Sam beamed, and after securing a napkin, began feeding his master. Frodo allowed himself to be fed, like a small child, lying back against the pillows. He swallowed without tasting, whatever Sam put in his mouth, his eyes never leaving the bird perched across from him. Sam was amazed at how much food he was able to get into his master, silently thanking the bird for diverting this normally stubborn patient into eating without argument. Finally, even though the bird continued to hold his attentions, Frodo could take no more. He turned away with a groan, pushing the proffered food item towards Sam. "Oh Sam, what have you done to me," he groaned.

"Mr. Frodo, you've done right well, you have, sir, but you've still only eaten about half o' what I brought you," Sam smiled. He was delighted that Frodo had finally eaten more than his usual thimble full of food, and cared naught how or who he had to thank for it.

Frodo groaned again, "Oh, I am miserable," he said. Sam just smiled as he adjusted his master's pillows so that he could lie back and rest a bit. Frodo took a piece of left over toast from the tray as Sam made to remove it. Sam smiled knowingly.

"I think I'll jes' be leavin' you two gentlemen to be about your business," he said with a smirk.

"Thank you, Sam. For everything," Frodo smiled sleepily at his good friend.

"'Twas nothin', sir. Jes' doin' me job, was all," he smiled at Frodo with a look that said he now knew it was really much more than that. He walked slowly, so as not to disturb the newest member of the Fellowship, finally exiting the room and pulling the door gently closed.

"Well, my friend, it looks like it's just you and me, now," Frodo murmured sleepily. "What should we do to pass the time, do you think?" The bird studied him from his perch. Frodo broke off a corner of the toast and, after some consideration, crumbled it over the blankets that lay across his chest. He then waited to see if or when his new friend would come and take them. But the full stomach and his generally weakened state, contrived to work against him, and his eyes slowly drifted closed. He adjusted himself trying to ward off the tiredness that seemed to wash over him. Of their own accord, his eyes slowly slipped closed. Frodo could not fight the subtle song, sung just for him, that sleep wove through his body, and he slept. The bird watched the wingless one for some time, pondering whether there was a threat, or if it were safe to approach this unusual being. At last, he deemed it safe and flew to the footboard. He surveyed the bed's occupant, cocking his red head right then left. The being did not move or speak and the redhead decided to risk all, flying down to the crumbs laid on the blanket. He watched the small creature closely as he ate, rising and falling with each slow, steady breath the frail chest made, until all of the crumbs were gone. He continued to study the being, deciding that this particular wingless one would require more observation. He fluttered to the sill and without a backwards glance, flew from the room.

TBC


	39. Chapter 39

Disclaimers: All characters, places and events are the sole property of the Tolkien Estate. I receive no money for this piece of fiction, only the satisfaction of writing about the land and peoples that he so beautifully depicted.

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 39

A ray of sunlight dealt a glancing blow across the features of the Ringbearer, causing him to blink and turn away upon his pillow. Frodo groaned and slowly opened his eyes. 'Here I've slept the day away once again,' he thought to himself. His window was open and a freshening breeze gently moved the curtains to and fro. He could hear voices fairly close by, perhaps on the patio beneath his window. He lay listening to what he now recognized as the voices of Faramir, Sam, Merry and Pippin. He strained to hear what they were talking about. Faramir was recounting a story in hushed tones, that seemed to have even Pippin, speechless. Frodo could catch a phrase here or a word there but was having difficulty hearing the full account being rendered. He sighed in frustration and growled to himself, "I am so tired of this room, its smell of sickness, no matter how often I am bathed or the linens changed. Certainly I am strong enough to join my friends for a bit of storytelling. I *did* make that short journey to Pippin's room yesterday, or was it the day before? Yes, well...I feel rather fit and a bit restless now, and I am weary of being cooped up in these quarters, as nice as they are, notwithstanding," he murmured to himself. He let his eyes roam the now minutely familiar room, and decided if he could make the arduous journey into Mordor that he most assuredly could manage getting himself up, dressed and outside with little or no trouble. Across the room was a wardrobe and he decided, with the stubbornness the Baggins name was known for, that this would be his first obstacle. He threw the covers back and slowly attempted to raise himself up on his thin and violently shaking, forearms. Although he was already panting from the effort, the sweat soaking his nightshirt, he was, if anything, only more determined to achieve his goal. At last he managed to sit up and he leaned back, exhausted, against the headboard. He was incredibly winded and decided a short break was in order.

"...and he stabbed you? Our cousin?....Frodo? Impossible!" he heard Pippin cry. Frodo was immediately all ears. Stabbed? He stabbed someone? Ridiculous! What a yarn Faramir must be spinning. He paused to hear what Faramir's reply would be.

"He did! See? Right here. I've just regained full use of the leg only this week. He's a force to be reckoned with, your cousin is."

"You have no idea," Frodo grumbled.

"You have no idea," chimed Merry.

"Just wait till I get my hands on you telling a tale like that to my baby cousin," Frodo mumbled. He sat, puzzled, 'I couldn't have done that, could I? I would surely remember something, and I don't recall anything like that ever taking place,' he mused. Of course, there *were* significant gaps in his memory of the last several weeks but, no...no, Faramir was a friend and he would never have done that. Unless...he had been so sick he had not been able to recognize friend from foe. The thought caused his eyes to grow very large. How *had* he lost the Lady Arwen's pendant? That had been a question that had been niggling at him ever since its return by the Queen.

"....and then he managed to elude Mr. Strider...I mean the King, and I, for hours." That sounded like Sam, Frodo thought with alarm.

"I simply must get out there and hear this tale of my deeds that I have no memory of doing," Frodo gasped through clenched teeth. He swung his legs over the tall bed and perched on the edge. The room pitched and swayed and, for a moment, Frodo was sure he would be ill. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, which helped to quell the rising nausea, and slid down to the floor, collapsing in a boneless heap. 'Wonderful,' he thought. “First, it's my arms, then the room won't hold still and now my legs won't work. If there wasn't some place I needed to be right now, this would all be very funny indeed,” he mumbled, his mouth curving up into a small smile. 'Fine, I shall crawl if I must, just like a baby,' he *did* laugh at that, a short giggle at his own expense. He made his way to the wardrobe and opened the doors. "Oh, dung beetles," he exclaimed. From where he sat on the floor, he could very clearly see his clothing, folded neatly, lying on the topmost shelf. He did laugh then, loud enough that he startled even himself and quickly covered his mouth with his hand. Of course, when he covered his mouth he fell over on his side with an 'oomph' because his one arm was too weak to support him alone, which caused him to laugh all the harder.

"Did you hear something?" asked Merry. Everyone paused to listen.

"Nothing, Mer'," Pip said indifferently. "So tell us what Frodo did to Saleth?" the tweener urged Faramir.

'Saleth?' mouthed Frodo to himself. 'Oh, this cannot be, this cannot be happening. How could no one have said anything to me all these weeks if I had caused such a melee?' Frodo thought. The clothes... ah yes, that cane over there should do the trick. Frodo made his way slowly to the corner of the room and wrapped his trembling hands about the cane. 'This will do nicely,' he thought.

*********   
Aragorn sat with his legs stretched out in front of him propped on a cushioned footstool, a wine glass in his right hand and, with the left, he held his wife's delicate right hand. Across from him Saleth sat in much the same posture, minus the lovely Queen. Saleth had an odd expression on his face to which Aragorn was openly grinning. "They are a wonner," Saleth said with a slur. "So innocenn, charming and sweet ba also misch...mischee...trouble," he smiled. Aragorn and Arwen laughed. "...an stubborn. Still, I wounnot ever regret my time I have spen' with them, my Liesh," Saleth swallowed thickly. His eyes had a decidedly glassy look to them that proved, all the more, that the healer was well on his way to a serious headache.

"Yes, they are all that, and more," smiled Aragorn. "And now that all of the wounded have been tended, perhaps you should relax a bit and get to know them as other than patients," added Aragorn. "Tell me, Saleth, you don't drink much wine do you?" Arwen giggled and covered her mouth. Aragorn smiled at her then looked back at Saleth.

"Well...I sellom have time to myown. I...no, I don't drink mush. How did you know?" the healer asked with an innocent look.

Arwen snorted in a most un-Queenly fashion, which caused Aragorn to burst into loud, raucous laughter. Saleth looked from one to the other in confusion. Deciding he had missed a joke or some such, he too began a high giggling laugh, so as not to be rude to his hosts. This, of course, only caused the King and Queen to laugh harder. This would have continued except a huge crash disturbed the frivolity.

Aragorn rose instantly, "I wonder what that was?" he said as he took the stairs two at a time back towards the healing ward.

******   
"I do *not* need help with this! I do NOT need help with this! I am perfectly fine except for being all sweaty, dizzy, nauseous and bruised," Frodo mumbled over and over as he poked the cane at the stacks of cloth high over his head. The bruises had come from falling hard against the cabinet when he had stood, on wobbling legs, and brandishing the cane, with equally trembling arms, over his head, at the errant clothing. His legs and arms had collapsed, causing him to fall. The cane had come crashing down, striking him across the temple, leaving him with a four-inch gash at his hairline and rendering him unconscious. Blood now mixed with sweat, as a prone Frodo watched it pool in front of his eyes. He was overcome with nausea, and he vomited violently, rolling away from it as it joined the blood and sweat on the floor. He righted himself; the room went ominously gray then black, then back to gray. He eyed the enemy shelf with loathing, and with a sudden burst of anger, raised the cane and made one last parting shot at it and his clothes. The cane connected hard with the shelf, jostling the whole wardrobe. Frodo looked up, hopeful that his last effort would yield his reward. Instead of the hard earned clothing, what fell on and about him were stacks of thick bound medical texts that had resided for time uncounted, on top of the old wardrobe. With a loud crash, each leather bound tome connected with a thud as it hit the prone figure on the floor below it. A dazed Frodo lay gazing at titles such as "Gondorian Cures by Leech Craft", and "Herbs--Common and Rare, of Middle Earth". All in all, Frodo was having a spectacular adventure, but *still* without leaving the confines of his healing cubicle or being suitably attired.

"And to think, I thought I had to leave the Shire for adventure," Frodo whispered to himself, which caused him to fall back heavily with a giggle. He lay gasping and giggling, a sweaty, dirty, beaten hobbit of the Shire until the giggles slowed, then stopped as his voice hitched in a sob. His body shook as he tried, without success, to halt the tears that ran down his grimy cheeks. "Oh, why does it always have to be a struggle," he whimpered. "Why can't things just be simple, for once? I am so very, very tired of it all," he sighed dejectedly. "Get a hold of yourself now, Frodo. I'll not let a "wardrobe" come between me and my freedom from this room," he said, finding his sense of humor once again. "If I can not find my breeches, well, I suppose I'll just have to go without." He smiled. "After all, a nightshirt covers everything, barring a good, stiff wind," he said, still crying. He inched to the bedpost and began trying to pull himself to his feet. When he stood, many things happened at once; one, his mind began to fog, his thoughts becoming disconnected and confused. The room and his vision in general, took on a fuzzy gray appearance, black dots danced before his eyes. His surroundings, usually so familiar and safe, now became distorted, twisted, and threatening. And all of it spun and lurched about him, a frightening dreamscape in hues of black and gray. Frodo gaped in wonder and terror at what he now saw. His head thrummed with a powerful stabbing pain, and a low buzzing sound, that had an oddly calming effect over him, filled his ears. His vision narrowed to a gray field with a fuzzy black edge, but still he moved forward, placing one foot in front of the other, each step quavered as his legs shook violently, threatening to collapse. His breaths came in great panting gasps as he brought air raggedly in and out of his lungs. As he left the doorway he fell hard against a table, knocking it over with a loud crash. He paid it no heed as he caught himself and moved slowly along the wall out into the hallway. The long stone corridor stretched out before him, he bore to the left although he could no longer remember why or where he was going. Suddenly, he saw strange shapes running towards him and he backed up against the stonework in alarm. Panic seized him; his heart beating so rapidly he thought his heart would leap from his chest. A low keening began in the back of his throat born from sheer terror at the site of these gray beings. He tried to hear what they were saying to him, but they were all speaking at once and he covered his ears and cowered away from them. One of them reached out for him and spoke quietly but, by then, all he could hear was the buzzing. His vision narrowed and gray slowly became black as his eyes rolled up into his head.

**************   
Aragorn, Arwen and Saleth met Merry, Pippin, Sam and Faramir at the junction of the two corridors that led to Frodo's room.

"We heard a crash," Faramir and Aragorn said in unison.

"Oh, I should never a' left him alone," Sam said as they ran towards Frodo's room.

"Nonsense Sam, I'm sure he's...fine," said Merry, the last word fell quietly as they rounded the corner and came upon the lone figure standing in the hall in front of them.   
The entire group was momentarily struck dumb at the visage before them. Frodo was wearing a thin nightshirt, which clung to his body with sweat, blood and vomit. The right side of his face was crusted with old blood as fresh blood continued to weep from his hairline. His hair was plastered to his head, his face coated in a sheen of perspiration. His eyes were wide in panic and there was a total lack of recognition in the blue depths as they moved back and forth to each member of the group. He appeared not unlike a small animal being hunted. He drew breath in great, panicky gasps and leaned heavily against the wall for support. Everyone began talking or asking him questions at once and he covered his ears against the cacophony, shrinking away in terror. Frodo began to keen loudly as panic overtook him. Aragorn knew he needed to act quickly to stop things from escalating and to find out who had beaten and battered the hobbit. He waved the others off as he could see how overwhelmed Frodo was by the noise and crowd. Everyone stepped back and became silent with the exception of the occasional sob that could be heard coming from Sam. Aragorn smiled at Frodo, crouching down, his arms out, and approaching him as he would a small bird or animal that had become trapped. He could see the pulse beat at Frodo's throat moving at an alarming rate and see the throat itself, working to swallow as the hobbit gulped in panicky breaths. Frodo moved back against the wall but then his eyes lost focus, rolled up into his head and he slid down the wall to the floor, falling over in a boneless swoon.

Aragorn lost no time rushing to Frodo's side and picking him up, he ran back into the room Frodo had struggled so hard to escape. He stopped, momentarily stunned, at the shambles and havoc he saw before him. Tables were overturned, huge volumes of medical lore lay strewn across the floor, covers and clothing lay twisted and soaked in vomit. He turned and moved down the corridor to the next empty room. The rest of the company had converged upon him as well, clamoring around their friend and his feet until Aragorn had to yell loudly for them to back away just so he could treat the hobbit. They parted, momentarily taken aback at the tone of command the King possessed as Aragorn rushed down the corridor. After gently laying Frodo on the bed he turned and, unceremoniously, closed the door on the three upturned faces of the indignant hobbits, allowing only Faramir, Saleth and the Lady Arwen to attend him. Faramir quickly stoked the fire and placed three coppers of water on to boil. Arwen retrieved bandages, blankets and toweling to use in the bathing and bandaging of the unconscious hobbit, while Saleth, now completely sober, gathered tinctures, medicinal herbs, and suturing materials onto a tray for the King's use.

The hot water was poured into a small tub that had been brought, and mixed with cool. A clean nightshirt was laid across the end of the bed and all made ready for the hobbit. Aragorn cut the soiled nightshirt off of Frodo's body, not wishing to pull it over his head until he had sutured the cut. "He has bruises everywhere," he exclaimed. He turned to Faramir and grasped the Steward's arm, "Find out who did this to him and bring him to me, *now*," he hissed. Faramir left long enough to summon the guard to perform a thorough search for any intruders and then returned to his King. "He has three large bumps on his head, along with this gash, but I can find no other serious injuries," Aragorn sighed. "Who would do such a thing?" He asked no one in particular. "The injuries make no sense. Aside from the bumps and the cut, he is all right. His panic and confusion were probably caused by these," he said as he indicated the contusions on the head. "He probably has a concussion as well," he murmured. He gently lifted Frodo and, moving to the tub, lowered him into the water. Frodo let out a small sigh and Aragorn watched to see if he would regain consciousness. When he did not, he began lathering the hair and gently rinsing the lather from the tangled curls, careful not to touch the laceration. He next lathered a flannel and washed the rest of the small form. The face was left for last and, as he wiped away the filth and blood, the blue eyes opened slowly. Frodo stared up into the face of the King for long moments before swallowing weakly and speaking.

"Aragorn?" he whispered.

"Yes, little one, you are safe now," Aragorn said smiling. Frodo frowned in confusion, but was too exhausted to further question the King. Arwen helped Aragorn wrap Frodo in the toweling and carefully dry the small body. When Frodo opened his eyes again, Arwen smiled gently down at him.

"My Lady?" he squeaked, his face coloring bright red and she smiled again at his obvious embarrassment.

"Fear not, Frodo, Aragorn alone tends to you, but it would be my honor to assist him, if it is not asking too much?"

Frodo gulped, "No...no, that is .... fine, thank you, my lady," Frodo replied hesitantly. Arwen smiled again. A smiling Aragorn dressed him in a clean nightshirt and lay him under the crisp linens and comforters on the bed. He prepared his needle, threading it with the sterilized horsehair to suture the cut. Saleth brought a small pot of healing balm to be applied to the cut once it was sewn.

"Frodo, who attacked you, my friend?" he asked casually as he prepared to make the first stitch.

"Attacked, Aragorn?"

"Yes Frodo. Who beat you and left your room in a shambles?" queried the King, watching Frodo's face closely.

"Why, no one, Aragorn," Frodo replied to the surprised trio.

Aragorn's eyebrows shot up, "No one? Then how came you to be with a concussion and so many bruises?" Aragorn asked, looking very confused.

Frodo blushed furiously and closed his eyes. He gulped and when he opened his eyes again, tears filled them and began running down his cheeks to the pillow. "I did it," he said in a low voice. Arwen smiled gently as she heard his confession, standing behind her husband.

Aragorn sat back, still holding the curved needle and horsehair thread, "*You* did it...how?" he shook his head. "Perhaps you are still disoriented from the head injury. I do not understand how someone so small and ill could create such total chaos to his room and himself," he said.

"It began simply enough," began Frodo, his eyes seeking understanding as he looked to each person in the room, who looked worriedly down at him. "I overheard Faramir talking out on the patio..."

"Oh Frodo, no...I am sorry if I upset you," began Faramir.

"No...you did not really upset me, well, too much," Frodo grimaced, "But I became more and more curious as to what you were speaking of and I was so tired of being in my sickroom. Oh Aragorn, might I be allowed outside? I promise I won't overdo and will sit quiet, but I cannot tolerate another day trapped in this room," Frodo's eyes began to tear up, "Hobbit's need fresh air, sunshine and green things growing or they...they..."

"They what, Frodo?" Aragorn asked gently, smiling.

"They do foolish acts attempting to get those things," Frodo said blushing again.

"I see. Please continue with your explanation of what happened today," Aragorn said, as he bent and began to take his first stitch.

"Well, I could hear the stories, or at least bits and pieces of them...*ouch*, that *hurt*, Aragorn," Frodo cried plaintively.

"I am sorry, Frodo, but only a few more, no more than ten, I should think, and we will be done," Aragorn said with a smirk.

"Ten! I think not. Just give me a bandage and I'll hold it there awhile," Frodo tried to move backwards, away from Aragorn, but found he had no strength to move.

"Hold still, Frodo, and I will try to be more gentle," Aragorn said with concern, as he saw how truly weakened Frodo was. "Continue please."

"What? Oh, right. Well, I wanted to go out and hear the stories...Ouch!" Frodo's eyes flashed, "and I was so restless and so I tried to get out of bed and to the wardrobe to get my clothes...OUCH! You did that one deliberately rough!" Frodo gasped. Faramir looked from Frodo to Aragorn in alarm.

"No Frodo, I would not do that to you," Aragorn said, but Frodo could see raw anger in the King's eyes. Aragorn made to make another stitch but Frodo turned his head. Arwen placed a light hand on Aragorn's shoulder.

"I will not allow it until I've told my explanation because I can *see* that you are angry with me," Frodo said heatedly. His vision dimmed and he began to breathe rapidly as he struggled to move away, even as weak as he was. Anger had given him enough strength to move slightly, but his face paled at the effort and beads of sweat formed on his brow and lip.

Aragorn's face changed rapidly from anger to concern and he reached out and drew Frodo to him. "Peace, Frodo. I am sorry, little one," he crooned as a strangled sob issued from Frodo's throat. "Oh, what have I done? I am so sorry. I am ashamed to have let my emotions interfere with my care for you. Please forgive me, my friend," he ran his fingers threw the silky curls until he felt the small body begin to relax in his arms, then he laid the limp form back against the pillow. Aragorn had tears in his eyes. "You know I would do nothing to truly harm you," he whispered, "but I *did* become angry at the thought of you trying to get up and dressed to walk outside without assistance," he sighed. "Allow me to finish the suturing of the cut and then you may finish your story," he said dejectedly. Frodo nodded, but he eyed the needle warily as Aragorn prepared to take the next stitch. 'His color is still too pale and his breathing still ragged,' thought Aragorn, ‘and *I* caused it,‘ he further berated himself. He gently made the next few stitches while Frodo's eyes looked fearfully up at him. Frodo did not cry out, as he had, but Aragorn could see the hobbit's jaw clench each time a stitch was made. Frodo was determined to *not* cry out and show any weakness. ' He is as stubborn as I am,' thought Aragorn. At last, the suturing was done, the balm applied and a bandage affixed. Aragorn sat back and looked into Frodo's face as Saleth brought hot tea for both of them.

"All right, Frodo, finish your tale," he said gently.

"Do not be angry with me," Frodo said weakly, somewhere between a plea and a warning.

"I will listen to all of what you say before passing judgment," Aragorn said evasively, and smiled.

"Very well. As I was saying, I wished to hear more of this story that Faramir was telling. I managed to get to the wardrobe but my clothes were up too high to reach. So, I found a cane and began to poke at them, hoping to cause them to fall so I could get properly dressed. Well, first the cane came down and struck me across the temple because my arms were too weak to control it. Then when I tried again I shook the shelf enough that the books on top came crashing down upon me. After that, I gave up on the clothing and decided to go out in my nightshirt, but I was so terribly tired and dizzy and my vision was so hazy...I don't remember much after that except that a horde of ghostly shapes attacked me. Their voices were loud and high pitched and they all spoke at once, it was very frightening," Frodo said in a breathless rush.

Aragorn chuckled, "Yes, I can imagine it was. But that "horde" was all of your friends and kin running to see what all the commotion was about." He grew somber, "I am not angry. I am concerned that you would do such a thing, but no longer angry," he sighed. "I will send in the rest of the 'horde' to see you, but then you must rest until tomorrow."   
Frodo made to object, but Aragorn held up his hands. "No arguments. By tomorrow I promise I will have come to some sort of reckoning for this act of blatant rule breaking, and my judgment will be final, Frodo Baggins," he said menacingly.

"Aragorn, please..." Frodo's voice broke.

"Be at peace, Frodo, I will be fair, you have my word," Aragorn smiled and gently tousled the dark curls. "Now, if you will drink this tea..." Frodo groaned.

"Yes, it's medicinal and no, it does not taste bad," Aragorn said knowingly. He lifted Frodo's shoulders up and held the cup to his lips. Frodo took a tentative swallow then, deeming it palatable, drank the rest of it without complaint. Aragorn lowered him back onto the pillows. Frodo eyed him through heavy lidded eyes.

"Remember what I said, Aragorn."

"Concerning what, my friend?"

"About hobbits needing air and green growing things," Frodo yawned.

"I remember, Frodo."

"You...will...consider it, then?" Frodo asked quietly.

"Yes, Frodo, I'll consider it. Now rest awhile, I'll check on you soon," Aragorn smiled down at him.

"Strider?"

"Yes, Frodo?"

"Was that a sleeping draught you gave me?" asked Frodo, groggily.

"Of course, little one, but you are also exhausted, my friend," he replied with a smile.

Frodo smiled slowly and closed his eyes. He slept.

Aragorn explained the situation to the worried hobbits. Sam was furious at his master's attempt at escape while Merry and Pip were in awe of their cousin's determination and fortitude. They filed into the room to see Frodo, more for reassurance sake than anything else. Sam took Frodo's hand and held it gently. Tears filled his eyes at the site of his battered master. Merry and Pip could not restrain smiles at the thought that all this damage to their cousin and his room had been wrought by Frodo himself, but still gently laid kisses upon their kin’s forehead before leaving the room.

Frodo slept late into the afternoon. When he awoke it was to intense pain. His head thrummed with the beat of his heartbeat and every muscle in his body ached and trembled at the slightest movement. Slow tears slid down his face onto the pillow. He knew that all hopes of leaving the sickroom had now been dashed due to his clumsy attempts to escape it. He craved the feel of the cool earth beneath his feet and to smell the fragrant blossoms that Sam had lovingly planted beneath his window.

"Weep not, Frodo, I have come to a decision concerning your earlier activities and your request to leave this room."

Frodo startled and turned his head towards the voice...a mistake as the movement caused him to gasp at the sudden pain and wave of vertigo that assaulted him.

Aragorn stood in the doorway and crossed to Frodo’s bedside in quick strides, to sit beside him. Gently he wiped the tears from Frodo's face and poured a cup of cool water for him to drink. He raised Frodo's head and shoulders slowly and brought the cup to the hobbit’s cracked lips. Frodo hesitated to drink even though his throat ached with want for the beverage. Aragorn looked down at him puzzled. Frodo's face had gone pasty white, his eyes were squeezed shut and his breaths came in short, ragged pants. "Frodo? Frodo, answer me, please." Aragorn said with concern, his voice wavered slightly.

"I...I believe I am going to be ill, Strider," Frodo answered in a small voice. None to soon, Aragorn drew a basin from a nearby table and placed it under Frodo's chin as he retched until his body collapsed against the King in a sweaty slump. He began to weep in great gulping sobs that he could not control. He clung to Aragorn's tunic willing the pain and vertigo to stop. Aragorn held him close, as he would a small child, and rubbed soothing circles on his back.

"I am sorry, my friend, that you are so miserable. You have a serious concussion, but the unpleasant side effects should pass if you remain still and rest," he murmured in a gentle voice.

Frodo continued to weep, unable to control the sobs that shook his frame. "I don't suppose I shall see Sam's flowers or breathe the fresh air for quite sometime, will I Aragorn? Oh, I am so weary of this captivity. I find even though my body continues to slowly heal, my spirit is breaking with each moment I lie in this bed," he said with a dispirited whisper.

Aragorn was distressed at the defeated sound of the hobbit's words. "You must not give up hope, Frodo. Soon you will be able to walk amongst the many beautiful gardens that Sam has so diligently restored to their original splendor."

"But not today," Frodo whispered. He stilled in Aragorn's arms and the King laid him gently back onto the pillow. Frodo had a faraway look in his eyes that reminded Aragorn of a time shortly after Gandalf had fallen in Moria. Frodo, and the rest of the Fellowship, had made it to Lothlorien and everyone had joined together to reminisce about the wizard. Stories and anecdotes were being shared and everyone was bonding in the bittersweet moment, everyone except Frodo. Aragorn had found Frodo amongst the roots of a giant mallorn, curled up into a tight ball. He had not heard Aragorn's approach and was gazing off into the distance. He had not responded when Aragorn had tried to rouse him and Aragorn had carried him to the healer's flet where he had lain for several days. Frodo’s grief had been so all encompassing that he had not eaten or slept for many days, and had finally had to be fed by Sam and Aragorn. He had offered no resistance, causing the ranger and gardener to become even more concerned with each passing moment. He had simply sat, while they had spoon-fed him each small bite, staring inwardly in an unfocused, glassy gaze that had both frightened and unnerved the Fellowship. Eventually, Frodo had, very slowly, come back to himself, regained his strength, but never spoken of the incident. Aragorn had not pressed the Ringbearer knowing he was already under extreme stress carrying the Ring.

Now, as Aragorn looked down upon the former Ringbearer, he was seized with a feeling of deja vu. He shuddered at the vacant stare the blue eyes now held. "Frodo?"

"I am afraid I really am rather tired, Aragorn. Would you mind terribly if I were to rest for a bit?" Frodo asked in a slow whisper. He looked up at the King, but the eyes held no spark.

"Of course not, Frodo," Aragorn whispered. "But first drink this willow tea to help with your headache, all right? I'm afraid it is rather bitter, although I did try to sweeten it with honey," Aragorn said, trying to fill the sudden silence.

"Of course," was the only response. Aragorn's eyes never left Frodo's face, and Frodo never objected to receiving the tea. He did not quail or fight, as was his usual manner when receiving healing draughts, especially bitter ones, which should have been a relief to the King, but as he helped the hobbit to drink the tea, Aragorn's stomach lurched with sudden dread. After the tea, Frodo moved over onto his side, facing away from the King. "Goodnight, Strider," he said quietly.

Aragorn rested his hand on the small shoulder, "Goodnight, Frodo," he murmured. He slowly rose and walked to the doorway. He paused to look back at the curled figure, a worried frown on his face, and then closed the door quietly.

TBC


	40. Chapter 40

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 40

Disclaimers: All characters, places and events are the sole property of the Tolkien Estate. I receive no money for this piece of fiction, only the satisfaction of writing about the land and peoples that he so beautifully depicted.

It was much later that evening when Sam entered Frodo's room baring a tray laden with all of Frodo's favorite foods. He had hand picked and supervised the preparation of each dish, even pausing to add a new bloom from Frodo's patio rose bush, and hoped his master would enjoy the handsome repast. He opened the door and, seeing that his master faced away from him, walked to the other side of the bed, placing the tray on the sideboard. When he turned to face Frodo he inhaled sharply. Frodo's face was much more pallid than normal, the lips a dusky blue. But what caused the gardener to quail were the sapphire eyes staring off, unseeing, seemingly towards the wall.

"Mr. Frodo, it's your Sam. I've brought you a bite to eat, sir," Sam said quietly, his voice quavering. There was no response from the Ringbearer and Sam would have thought his master dead except for the raspy inhale and exhale of each slow breath. Sam placed a trembling hand on Frodo's shoulder and shook him lightly. "Mr. Frodo? Frodo?" He asked with increasing urgency. Sam began to panic, but then heard a quiet, whispered "Sam?"

"Mr. Frodo, you scared me awful, you did. I've brought some supper sir. Let me just help you up a bit and we'll get you ready to tuck in."

"No, Sam. So tired...not hungry," came the weak response.

"Now, sir, you know you gotta eat to get feelin' better. I've picked some wonderful dishes, I have, just the thing to get you up to rights again," Sam said with a worried frown. 'He still hasn't moved and *does* seem mighty lethargic', thought Sam. 'And he's so pale'.

"Can't, Sam. Can’t. Need to rest just a bit more," Frodo said in a hushed voice. Sam took Frodo's hand and sat in a chair by the bed. The hand was limp and ice cold as he began chafing it between his warm calloused ones, trying to will some life back into them.   
"Please, Mr. Frodo. Please, just a bite or two," Sam wheedled, tears now starting to fill his hazel eyes. "For your, Sam?" he continued. There was no response, so Sam took this as a yes. Frodo still hadn't moved and Sam was loath to force him, so he laid a cloth napkin along the pillow. He selected a light apple custard dish, and using a child sized spoon, placed some in Frodo's mouth. For long moments, nothing happened and then Sam saw his master's throat move as he swallowed. "There you go, Mr. Frodo, what d'ya think of that? Right tasty, isn't it?" Sam said with forced cheerfulness.

"Good," was all Frodo said. Sam prepared another spoonful with much the same results. In this way, he got more than half of the mixture into his master before Frodo turned away, indicating he wanted no more.

"I've also brought a tasty blueberry treacle, Mr. Frodo. Would you like to try a taste, sir?" Sam asked in a trembling voice. Frodo's lack of response and slowed mannerisms were taking a toll on the cheerful facade of the gardener. 'It just weren't normal for a body to be so still and to not eat anymore than he had,' thought Sam.

"Full, Sam...but thank you, my Sam," Frodo whispered. "Tired." Frodo closed his eyes; his breathing became shallow and light indicating he had slipped into a doze.

"Not right. Somethin's not right at all, and I mean to find out what's to be done about it," Sam muttered with concern. He quickly rose and began, at first, to walk, but the more he thought about it, the more panicked he became and the faster he went until he was running as fast as his short legs would carry him. He cleared the doorway of the Houses of Healing and ran full tilt up the next level to the Citadel. By now he was near hysterics wondering what could be wrong with his dear master. The guard bowed and allowed Sam in without question, he raced to the main dining area and, again, was granted immediate access. Aragorn, rose at the sight of the breathless and disheveled gardener running down the length of the room towards the head of the table.

"Sam? What is it?" Asked Aragorn with concern. Gandalf, Faramir, Eowyn and the Lady Arwen all rose as one, alarmed at the flushed and distraught appearance of the hobbit.

"Frodo..." Sam panted.

"What about Frodo? Is he unwell?" asked Gandalf sternly.

Sam was having a hard time regulating his breathing enough to explain about his master, which only added to his frustration. "He's not himself. He's weak and pale and can't even lift his head," Sam gasped. Arwen brought him a glass of water, knelt and helped him to drink it, as she gently patted his back. He smiled his thanks and she made his day by gracing him with one of her dazzling smiles in return. Sam was suddenly thankful that he was already flushed and sweaty as he gulped bashfully.

Aragorn scooped up the gardener and made for the exit. "I'll hear no arguments about being carried, Sam. You should not have run all the way here. You have only just recovered from your journey as well, plus your shorter gait would only slow us down, so you shall be carried," said Aragorn brusquely. Sam was too worried about his master to even consider the possibility of *not* being carried. He only wanted to return quickly and be by Frodo's side. The others all followed suit and soon the procession was making all haste to the sixth level.

When they arrived at the Houses of Healing and entered Frodo's room, night had fallen and the room was pitch black. Candles were quickly lit showing the Ringbearer to be on his side as Sam had left him and as Aragorn had last seen him hours before. His eyes were two blue, blank pools staring off into nothingness. Aragorn knelt by the bed and gently shook Frodo's shoulder but received no response.

"Frodo. Frodo, answer me," he commanded. He felt Frodo's forehead, which was clammy, a sheen of sweat coated the hobbit's face. The King passed a candle back and forth in front of the unseeing eyes; the blue irises stared back at him, unblinking. "His skin is so cold and clammy and his breathing is much to labored," he said. He raised his eyes to Gandalf. "When I left him earlier he was despondent about not being able to spend time outside, but this goes deeper than mere depression or Baggins stubbornness. Have you seen this before, Gandalf?" Aragorn asked.

"Yes, and I had hoped to never see it again. I wondered if this would happen, what with the long recuperation time needed for Frodo's wounds to properly heal," the wizard looked weary and ancient as he settled himself at the end of the over large bed.

"Do not speak in riddles, Gandalf. What ails him?" Aragorn asked, a note of desperation could be detected in his voice.

"Aragorn, have you heard stories about rare and exotic birds or animals that have been captured as pets? They are given foods they would normally eat, water and the best cages that could be built, and yet they languished, eventually dying, usually by starving themselves. Hobbits are not unlike a rare bird. You can feed them, heal their wounds, dote on them and see to their every need, but over time, if not able to breathe the free air or feel the earth beneath their ridiculously hairy and overlarge feet, they will die," the wizard said sadly.

"Gandalf, what you say, makes no sense. Frodo is not being held captive. He is honored and revered and I would do anything to keep him safe and content. I cannot allow him to roam outside until he is well enough to walk or stand," said Aragorn gruffly.

"Those other animals I spoke of were also honored and revered. They were kept safe and seemingly, cherished. Despite what you say, Aragorn, a cage is still a cage. Frodo is not causing this, do not misunderstand, I have no doubt that he is feeling very confused and experiencing no small amount of anxiety as well because his body will not do as he commands it. It is the unfortunate side effect of prolonged captivity that causes this to happen to hobbits," Gandalf tried to explain.

"Then why have we not seen this sooner?" Aragorn demanded.

"Perhaps because Frodo's body has been busy healing itself, its very survival taking precedence to this other malady. Once his body felt it was strong enough, only then did we see this sickness emerge. A sickness that is unique to hobbits, I might add, amongst the mortal races," Gandalf offered.

"What can we do to arrest this malaise?" Aragorn asked, as he gently rolled Frodo onto his back and pulled the counterpane up close to his chest.

"There is little you can do, I'm afraid," said Gandalf sadly. A sob broke the silence in the room, reminding Aragorn and Gandalf of the others presence. Sam watched them, tears sliding down his flushed cheeks.

"You're not gonna give up on him, are you Strider? You're still gonna try to help 'em arn't you?" He sobbed.

"Of course, Sam. We will do all we can. Sam, have you heard of this sickness before?" Aragorn asked, curious.

"Aye sir, I have. I had a second cousin who knew someone who was visitin' Bree. 'Got all messed up with some o' the wrong kind o' people and they thrown him in the jail up at Staddle. He sat there waitin' for his Da to come an' pay to get him out, 'cept his Da never got word of it till it were too late. Six months he sat there and he slowly stopped eatin', didn't want ta do nothin' but sleep and stare out the barred window. Finally they came in to check on him cause he'd been that quiet and he was dead, still had his eyes open starin' out that window. Was right hard on his Da too," Sam said quietly.

"Sam would you see that a hot bath is poured for Frodo and some strong tea made?" asked Aragorn.

"Yes sir," Sam said as he scurried away, happy to have something to do to help his master.

"What is going on in here?" a small voice cried from the doorway. "Frodo? What's wrong with Frodo?" A small body quickly dodged through the larger bodies and climbed up on the bed. Merry's face fell as he studied his cousin's. "Aragorn?"

"Merry, I am sorry you were awoken by us. Frodo seems to have developed a.... sickness due to his confinement at Minas Tirith. We are striving to find ways to bring him out of his stupor," Aragorn said gently.

"The Wasting," Merry whispered with quiet dread.

"What did you say, Merry?" Aragorn asked.

Merry turned frightened eyes towards Aragorn, "It's called 'The Wasting Disease“. I've only seen one case of it before, at the Hall." Merry gulped, his lip quivering. He turned back to look at his cousin and reached out, capturing the cold hand in his. "A child of about 10 summers fell from a tree and broke her back. They knew she would never walk again, but she was still able to use her hands. She had to lie still for many months and did well enough throughout the last days of summer, but as fall came on and with it, winter, she became less and less talkative. She slowly stopped eating and would only stare at the ceiling above her bed, not speaking to anyone," he gulped. "She died." He turned and looked at Aragorn, "She starved to death or I should say, the Wasting took over and she simply lost the will to eat, and eventually, to live," he swallowed thickly, tears in his eyes. "We cannot let this happen to Frodo. He is already so thin, it would take no time at all for the disease to take his life."

"We will fight this, Merry. For now, I would like you to rest," Aragorn said firmly.

"But..." Merry began.

"Frodo will need your strength. You must sleep so that you will be ready to assist us with him tomorrow," Aragorn argued. Merry turned sad eyes from Aragorn to Frodo then crept up the bed and placed a loving kiss on Frodo's forehead. Swiping tears away, he climbed from the bed without speaking further, and left the room. Aragorn motioned to Saleth, "Please see that Merry is given a sleeping draught for tonight, or he will worry till morning," he said. Saleth nodded and left the room.

Sam returned with the tea and a small kettle of thin broth and was followed by two healers bearing coppers of hot water. The bath was prepared and Aragorn gently stripped Frodo of his nightshirt and carried the quickly cooling body of the tiny hobbit to the small tub and placed him in the warm water. A small sigh was the only indication that Frodo noticed all that passed around him. Aragorn spoke gently as he lathered and rinsed and then, removed the now warmed hobbit from the water and cuddled him into fluffy toweling. The others slowly filed from the room, Queen Arwen gently escorting a reluctant Sam who glanced worriedly over his shoulder, leaving a guilt ridden King, and Gandalf alone with the mute hero.

"How could I have been so foolish, so neglectful? Calmly eating my supper while he was alone and slipping away from us," Aragorn spit out through clenched teeth.

"You could not have known," insisted the wizard, looking concernedly at the King. "He is strong, he will recover."

"Are you so certain? What if, after all he has been through, all he has suffered for and all he has lost, that this...THIS is what takes him so cruelly from us?" Aragorn cried bitterly.

"Aragorn..."

"No! I made the mistake before of leaving him, thinking he was but wallowing in self pity, I shall not do that again," he said angrily. "All he wanted was to see Sam's roses," he whispered. "Well, a bit late but, hopefully not *to* late, for that," he stood and gathered several blankets and pillows in his arms. Next he pulled a feather pallet off of a bed in the tiny alcove off of Frodo's room. He took the pallet outside to the patio and walked out onto the grass. He found an area with a clear view of the stars and laid the pallet on the ground. He returned to the room and gathered up the blankets and pillows, retracing his steps to the patio area. He made the makeshift bed and returned a last time to Frodo's room. Gently he lifted the slight form, holding him close to his heart, and carried him to the garden. He knelt, lowering the hobbit to the bed, the blue eyes staring unseeing up at the glittering dome above him. Gandalf had followed him out and watched as he saw both King and hobbit settle down on the feather bed. Aragorn pulled Frodo up into his lap so that he lay across the cross-legged King. "I denied this of you earlier, my friend, I pray that I will not rue that hour. I shall not be so hasty with you in the future," he crooned as he gently rocked Frodo back and forth.

The wizard watched from the shadows as another more slender figure joined him. Slowly, Arwen took Gandalf's hand. He turned to her smiling slightly and brought the Lady's hand to his lips. "My Queen," he whispered.

"Mithrandir?" she asked.

"There, by the hedge," he pointed.

"Ahh. My husband is most distressed, but I feel Frodo has still much strength left in him," she whispered.

"Let us hope it is enough," Gandalf murmured.

"It will be." She turned and looked again at Gandalf and smiled radiantly. "It will be, Mithrandir."

Gandalf smiled, his heart lightened by these words, and bowed his head to the Queen. He departed with a last glance back at the two huddled figures.

In the early hours of morning Saleth rose and went to Frodo's room to see how he fared. When he walked through the doors he gasped at the sight of the empty bed. Frantically, he raced from room to room looking for the Ringbearer. Gandalf came upon him, mumbling to himself, in the corridor by Pippin and Merry's quarters. He smiled at the overwrought appearance of the healer then guided him out onto the patio below Frodo's room. There, in the grass, surrounded by Sam's handiwork he not only found the missing Ringbearer, but the King as well. They lay curled together upon a feather mattress and covered in quilts. Saleth called for orderlies to bring heated stones wrapped in cloth, which were placed about the sleeping forms to ward off the morning chill. Frodo's eyes were, thankfully, closed. But the King, used to sleeping lightly after being a ranger most of his life, watched them as they doted on them and smiled his thanks to Saleth. After they departed he pulled Frodo closer to him and went back to sleep.

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He could feel, rather than see with his limited and fogged vision, the deep rosy purples of a new day barely dawning. The slow, steady thrum of the earth moved beneath his beaten body. He felt for the first time in what...days? (Or had it been merely hours?) the steady and languorous return of life, a life he had given up as lost forever to powers beyond his control, as it began to seep back into his soul. He had relinquished himself to the fact that, at long last, it was over. All of it finally over and the eternal sleep of the just or maybe just the road weary and battle worn, would be his at last. Surprisingly this had brought him not fear, but a great peace. But now, now that the earth's life giving force could be felt so subtly creeping back into his frail form, he felt hope that he might yet feel again the loving embrace of his kin and his dear Sam. At his back, the gentle soft breath of his King and dear friend crept across his neck like the breath of the Valar itself, calling him back from the very brink of death. Slowly, the maimed hand, the embarrassment and guilt forgotten, moved to stroke the verdant green that was so freely nursed from the dark soil beneath. And, upon the gentle stroking of the tender young shoots, the peace that filled the hearts of all who dwelt with and within the earth fired the near extinguished spark of Frodo's soul. He drowsed. Although the ultramarine eyes were open, they focused only inward; a small tendril of life clung and grew, knowing that, with tender cultivation, it could once again grow into what was at the very heart of a hobbit.

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In the morning a light humming awoke Aragorn from a sound sleep. He lay listening but heard nothing, no...There it was again, just snatches every now and then of a simple tune barely whispered. As he puzzled as to what could be making the noise, he rose on his elbow and peered over the side of the spooned hobbit. Frodo was the source of the faint humming and, as Aragorn watched, he saw that the hobbit's right hand lay in the grass by the makeshift bed, lightly ruffling the blades with his fingertips. The King crawled around until he was looking into the deep blue eyes.

"Frodo? Are you awake, little one?" he asked quietly. Gently he smoothed back the curls from the furrowed brow, mindful of the healing cut. The blue eyes stared off as before, but Aragorn felt a ray of hope to see the tiny, wounded hand lightly caressing the tender shoots and hear the occasional snatches hummed of a tune only known by Frodo. Aragorn smiled widely. "We will see you cured yet, my dearest of hobbits," he said softly. He reached under Frodo and began to gently lift him to bear him back to his bed, but a faint mewling sound stopped his motions. He pulled back and gazed once again into the crystal blue eyes. They were moist; he could swear they were moist.

"Frodo, did I hurt you? Are you in pain, little one?" Aragorn asked anxiously. He now well understood how frustrating it would be to be a parent of a small child, not knowing what they wanted or if they were in pain. He scrutinized the pale face and vacant eyes and sighed.

"Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Strider, but I don't think that's it at all, if I might be so bold, sir." Aragorn turned and saw the small gardener standing in the portico leading to the small garden, bearing a tray laden with breakfast for three. He walked slowly to the two campers and squatted down, placing the tray on the grass. He spread a light quilt on the grass and began unloading the tray complete with tea service for three, scones, marmalade and raspberry jams, strawberries and cream, bacon and sausages and a special peach froth for Frodo. He poured the tea, adding honey to Frodo's and began serving up a small plate for his master.

"What do you mean, Samwise?" asked Aragorn, as he poured tea for himself and Sam and began munching on a scone.

"I think Mr. Frodo don’t wanna leave and that's why he made that little noise." Sam smiled. "He's already gettin' better ain't he? I mean, I saw him touchin' the grass an all and hummin' that little lullaby and then he makes that little noise when you tried to take him back inside. He's gettin' better!" he said excitedly.

"Sam, I wouldn't read too much into one night out in the garden. I would truly hate to see your hopes dashed if it all came to naught," Aragorn said hesitantly.

"I never lost hope in Mordor, and I don't mean to now. I have ta believe in somethin', Strider, and I've always believed in Mr. Frodo 'cause he's never once let me down or caused me to question him." Aragorn looked up at Sam, raising his eyebrows. "No Strider, never once," Sam said insistently, surmising that Strider doubted him, that surely Sam had doubted Frodo at the cracks of Mount Doom which, honestly, Sam had a bit, but was not about to admit that to Strider.

"Well, we can prove you right Sam, easily enough. In fact, if this works I have a plan to try and bring Frodo back to us faster.

"All right," Sam said hesitantly. "What did you have in mind, sir?" He gave Aragorn a skeptical look. Aragorn smiled at Sam then turned and leaned over Frodo.

"Frodo, Sam believes you wish to stay here in the garden and that was why you cried out when I tried to pick you up." The blue eyes continued their scrutiny of nothing. "I have a small wager with your gardener here, that if you wish to stay outside that when I go to pick you up again, you will make a sound or gesture to stop me." Aragorn smiled into the small face. "Shall we give it a try then?" He moved his hands under Frodo's knees and behind his shoulders and began to lift up, but was stopped when the faint mewling sound came again.

"See? Told ya so, Mr. Strider. He wants ta stay," Sam said with a self satisfied smile, his body fairly shaking with excitement.

"Sam, he could just be making this noise because I'm hurting him in some way when I try to lift him," he winked at Sam. Sam smiled widely back at him. "Tell you what Sam, *if* Frodo makes absolutely *no* sound when I sit him up to eat *and* eats at least let's say, all of that peach froth and one half of a scone soaked in tea *then* I will believe he wants to stay here in the garden and will make him a very comfortable spot here in the shade where he can stay for a few hours time. What say you, Sam...is it a wager say for this very plump sausage here?" Aragorn laughed.

"Very well, Strider, I'll take that bet," Sam giggled. Aragorn held his breath as he made to lift Frodo once again only this time; he pulled the Ringbearer up onto his lap with Frodo's head leaning back against his chest. Frodo made not a sound.

"Ah ha, told you..." Sam smiled gleefully.

"Not yet, Master Gamgee, there is still the small matter of the peach froth and the one and a half scones and tea to be taken care of," Aragorn said lightheartedly. In truth he could have jumped and shouted with delight right at that moment, so excited was he to be proven wrong.

"Half a scone, Strider," Sam said with a giggle.

"I stand corrected, my friend. Half a scone it is," chuckled Aragorn. His hands shook as he swirled and then took a small spoonful of the peach froth onto the child sized spoon and placed the small bite in Frodo's mouth. He watched as it was slowly swallowed. It took almost half of an hour, but the peach froth was consumed. Sam caught Aragorn's eye and smiled slowly.

"Here Mr. Frodo, have a strawberry dipped in clotted cream; they're especially sweet this morning." Sam made to place a small piece in Frodo's mouth but the lips became a tight, unyielding line barring the way for the juicy morsel.

Sam jumped to his feet and began dancing and shouting, "He understands, he understands," he yelled as Aragorn sat, watching and laughing at the gardener's jig while holding the doll like hobbit on his lap. When finally Sam, exhausted but happy, came back to the blanket, Aragorn was soaking half of a scone on a saucer with the hot tea. Once the scone was sufficiently soggy he began to slowly place spoonfuls of the mixture into Frodo's tiny mouth. Frodo would hold it there, much like the froth, and then gradually swallow, allowing it to effortlessly slide down his throat. After some twenty minutes the half scone and tea were gone and Aragorn began soaking the second half in more of the sweetened tea. Sam smiled slightly, his eyes sparkling. Aragorn looked up at Sam and returned the smile. Unbeknownst to the picnickers a small circle of friends and kin had formed on the portico looking out onto the garden.

"What was all that racket? Is Frodo all right, he isn't in his room? Merry exclaimed as he rushed to the doorway, quickly followed by an out of breath Pippin hobbling on crutches.

"No, he is fine Merry. See? He's outside with Aragorn and Sam," answered Faramir who pointed to the three breakfasters. Aragorn was now leaning over Frodo, who sat propped on his lap, head tucked under the King's chin.

"Since you enjoyed that half of the scone so much, Frodo, I thought, perhaps, you would like a bit more," said the King as he quickly glanced up at Sam. Sam held his breath as he gave a quick nod to Aragorn. Aragorn, too, held his breath as he brought a small spoonful of the soaked scone up to Frodo's small mouth...a mouth that was immediately unyielding, forming a tight line on the pale face.

"Ah Ha!" Aragorn exclaimed. He laid Frodo carefully on his side and grabbed Sam and began to dance a jig in a small circle around their breakfast blanket.

"He heard you! He's goin' ta be alright," laughed an exuberant Sam, jumping up and down and holding a laughing King's hands as they danced and crowed joyfully around the prone Ringbearer.

In the doorway Eowyn and Arwen, as one, covered their mouths and began giggling helplessly. Faramir and Gandalf began loud booming laughter as Saleth stood, open mouthed, transfixed by the sight of the very tall King dancing delightedly with the very small periannth. Merry and Pip looked at each other with puzzled, but amused, expressions on their faces. Merry's eyes settled on Frodo and, impulsively, he grabbed Pippin's arm.

"Pip, look at Frodo," he squealed. Pip looked over at his cousin and saw that the fingertips of his right hand were gently caressing the tender shoots of grass alongside the blanket. The eyes still stared off at nothing, but this meant little to Merry and Pippin who were filled with unbridled joy at seeing even the simplest of reactions from their beloved cousin. Merry swept Pippin up and spun him around, doing his own dance of celebration. Soon, everyone was laughing and dancing about in the flower garden, completely lost in this small moment of well-deserved happiness. Oblivious to all was Frodo, who listened to the steady heartbeat of the earth as he gently fondled the verge before his eyes.

The next couple of days passed slowly as Frodo made no further improvement but did not falter either, in his recovery. An air of hopefulness had settled over the close knit group of friends as they each took turns feeding, talking to or carrying the hobbit about outside. On the fifth day Aragorn came to Frodo's room with a tray of soft foods and regular breakfast fare for Sam, and set it by the bedside. He opened the shutters allowing a soft breeze and thus fragrant aroma of the garden to permeate and clear the sickroom. Sam had slept beside his master in case he had awoken and needed anything and now blinked sleepily as the gray light of morning began to filter in through the billowing curtains.

"I thought you and Frodo would like some breakfast, Sam," said Aragorn. He pulled a chair to the bedside and peered into the startling blue, yet blank, eyes of the former Ringbearer. "And Frodo, how are you faring today? I've brought you some apple jelly, toast squares and some more of that peach froth you liked so much," he motioned to each of the entrees as he spoke. He and Sam had decided to continue to talk to Frodo as if he could respond in the hopes that soon, he would. Occasionally they would throw out a bit of erroneous information hoping to stimulate a rebuttal. Sam carefully pulled Frodo up into a sitting position against his chest. Frodo groaned and closed his eyes. His face turned very pale and a sheen of sweat had broken out on his forehead and upper lip. Sam and Aragorn peered worriedly at him. Aragorn quickly brought a basin and placed it beneath the small chin. Frodo bent over, with Sam's help, and vomited repeatedly until only dry heaves came forth. He sagged, bonelessly, over Sam's arm, tears coursing down his cheeks. Sam crooned to him, whispering soothing words, until the fit passed.

"I'm sorry Mr. Frodo. I musta' moved you too quickly. Strider, why is he still so sick?" Sam asked worriedly.

"Frodo is still recovering from the concussion, Sam. Hopefully, in a few days, the dizziness will abate and he'll feel more like himself. Aragorn wiped the quivering mouth and, with a clean cloth dipped in cool water, washed the sweat and vomit from the pallid face. Frodo's eyes were closed as Sam slowly pulled him back, once again, to his chest. Slowly, the eyes opened and fixed on the King. Aragorn started, seeing that he was actually being scrutinized by Frodo; the first time, that he knew of, since the malaise had descended that Frodo hadn't stared off into space.

"What is it, Strider?" Sam asked quietly as he glanced first at the King, then at his master. He studied his master and a smile slowly lit his round face. "He's lookin' at you, ain't he," he whispered.

"Yes Sam, it appears he is. I do not wish to break this contact. Would you feed him as I speak with him?"

"O' course, sir." Noting that Strider had said 'speak *with* him' instead of speak *to* him. He selected one of the dishes and slowly began to spoon the apple jelly into Frodo's small mouth.

"How does that taste, my friend?" Aragorn asked quietly, not expecting a reply, but hoping for one, nonetheless. Frodo swallowed slowly, his gaze never leaving Aragorn's.

"Frodo, I would very much like to take you outside to see the special plantings Sam has been so busy with, around the white tree sapling. Of course, if you wish to go, I'll have to know one way or the other so that I can arrange a bath and clothing." He paused and observed the cherubic face for any reaction. The blue eyes remained locked with the King's gray ones as if engaged in a battle of wills. Aragorn reached over and slowly took Frodo's hand in his. He was happy to note that at least it was warmer than the day before.   
"I suppose, if you are too tired, we could postpone the outing for another day," the King baited.

The tiniest squeak came from Frodo's lips. Aragorn watched as Frodo's forehead furrowed and a dew of perspiration began to form on his lip. He could tell that there was a great struggle, a battle, being waged; where Frodo was the challenger and the disease, the favored victor. Who would actually be the champion? Aragorn could only hope it would, eventually, be Frodo. His heart ached to watch the duel, but knew that it was necessary for Frodo to overcome and defeat the disease on his own terms. Another small gasp escaped Frodo's lips. Sam watched his master's face with a look that was a mix of frustration and anticipation. Aragorn squeezed Frodo's hand.

"Was that a yes, Frodo? Would you like to see how beautiful the courtyard now looks? Would you like to perhaps stroll a few steps amidst the flowers?" Aragorn whispered, his nose now mere inches from Frodo's.

A look of complete and total frustration flickered in Frodo's eyes. His lips quivered as they tried, so desperately, to express themselves as they once had. Then Aragorn inhaled sharply as slow tears began to flow down Frodo's cheeks, yet his face remained locked and closed as before. Aragorn pulled him to him in a tight embrace planting a long kiss on the tangled curls.

"I would say that that was a big yes," he said huskily as he leaned him back and looked into the blank face. Frodo was panting as if he had run a great race, eyes closed amidst the sweaty face. "You shall have your walk, my friend, but first eat so that you will have the strength, then a bath and a rest, for you have labored much already this morning. When you have eaten, bathed and rested we will go to the courtyard and you may stay all day amongst the flowers, if you so desire. Oh Frodo, I know you can hear me, and you must not lose hope. We will not allow you to fade away, dear friend. Each day brings you a little closer to your freedom and happiness and we will help you, however we can, to see you attain that goal." Aragorn was overcome with emotion and renewed respect for the small person, after witnessing Frodo's shear force of will.

Sam had been silent throughout the contest of wills, but Aragorn looked at him now. His face was damp with fresh tears but he wore a triumphant smile and Aragorn pulled him into the huge embrace he shared with Frodo. Frodo's eyes had reverted to the glassy stare, but this did not dampen the feeling of renewed hope that permeated the room. Sam wiped his eyes and sniffed. "Well, Mr. Frodo, if'n you're goin' out and about you'll need a bit more ta eat, so here's some more of that apple jelly, sir." He spooned the fruit into Frodo's mouth and Frodo swallowed slowly. Sam painstakingly fed Frodo all that Aragorn had brought and although the toast squares had to be torn into very tiny pieces so he wouldn't choke, Frodo had eaten all of it. While breakfast was being fed to the Ringbearer, orderlies had brought coppers of hot and cold water and filled the small tub, adding a small amount of lavender oil lastly.

"Sam, why don't you go and eat your breakfast while Frodo has his bath?" Aragorn asked.

"Well sir, I don't know if I should leave him. I'm not all that hungry anyways," Sam said as his stomach rumbled.

Aragorn raised an eyebrow and fixed his eyes on Sam. "Master Gamgee, I will not permit you to go with us on our outing if you do not have breakfast and a bath afterwards. Is that clear?" the King said in a calm, powerful voice.

Sam's eyes grew very wide. "That's mighty harsh, Strider. Who'd tell Mr. Frodo what was what if I weren't there?" he huffed.

"We will manage without you, Sam, unless you obey my wishes," Aragorn said softly.

Sam sighed and looked down, "All right, but I won't be but two shakes and then I'm comin' right back," he acquiesced.

"We will not depart without you Sam, fear not. I believe Frodo would be much more comfortable if you were to join us and tell him all that you have done for the renewal of Gondor's beauty," Aragorn murmured, smiling.

Sam blushed and took Frodo's hands in his. "Your Sam will be right back, Mr. Frodo," he whispered as he placed a light kiss on the hobbit's forehead. Frodo made no move to indicate he had heard or understood the gesture. Sam slowly lowered himself down from the bed and, with a last glance back, left the room.

Aragorn turned his attentions to Frodo, slowly removing the soiled nightshirt and carrying the slight body to the awaiting tub. As he gently washed Frodo's hair he carried on a running commentary about the history of the white tree. He told Frodo how he and Gandalf had come upon the small sapling in the rock hills; how they had carefully extricated it from the hard soil and brought it to the sacred ground and planted it, reverently, where the once beautiful predecessor had resided. He told of how, once planted, the sapling had grown quickly to the height of a hobbit (he had chuckled at the comparison) in a matter of weeks. The tree had seemed magical to all who tended it, not only with the speed at which it grew, but that it had flowered its heavily scented white blossoms mere days after being planted. Gently, he rinsed Frodo's body and hair, all the while watching the hobbit's face for any flicker of understanding or interest in his story. There had been none, yet Aragorn had not been disheartened. He removed Frodo from the bath, dried him and laid him on the bed. He pulled a clean nightshirt over his head and eased the hobbit back on the pillows.

"Now, Master Baggins, it is time to remove those stitches," he said as he gathered a small, delicate, pair of scissors and tweezers. The instruments were intricately etched with small birds and vines and had been a gift to Aragorn from Elrond long ago. Carefully each stitch was clipped and the horsehair tweezed from the mended cut. Frodo grimaced as the last stitch was cut and removed. "I am sorry Frodo if I have caused you discomfort," Aragorn whispered, although he was not sorry to have witnessed, yet another, sign of awareness from his friend. The forehead was still black and blue, tinged with yellow, and obviously still tender. Frodo closed his eyes briefly as Aragorn gently applied a lightly scented balm to the healed cut.

"Ouch," Frodo murmured, causing the King to draw back suddenly as if burned.

"Frodo, did you just speak or were my ears deceiving me?" Aragorn whispered excitedly. No response was forthcoming. Aragorn held his breath and lightly placed his fingertips on the colorful bruise. He pushed gently.

"Ouch...don't," Frodo croaked. Aragorn broke into a huge grin and chuckled lightly.

"Oh Frodo, I am sorry. But it was worth it to hear you speak once again, my friend," Aragorn choked, his voice full of emotion. Frodo closed his eyes slowly, his head nodding against his chest. "But your work this morning has taken its toll and you have earned a much needed rest." He gently removed the extra pillows from behind Frodo's head and lay him back cuddled in a small cocoon of blankets and bolsters. "Rest, my friend, and when you awaken we will stroll amidst the beauty that the hands of Samwise has wrought," he whispered. He wiped the tears from his eyes and watched Frodo as he sighed and pulled a small pillow to his chest. His eyes were closed and only when his breaths came in soft, regular inhalations did Aragorn rise and exit quietly, knowing that he slept.

When Frodo awoke the light had slowly climbed to midday. He could hear the birds outside his window as they chirped and scolded one another over those things that only birds knew or cared about. He rolled slowly to his back and saw that Sam sat beside his bed looking scrubbed, fed and refreshed.

"'Lo Mr. Frodo. 'Heard you an Strider had a small chat earlier," the gardener beamed into the face of his master and friend. "Are you ready to visit the white tree, sir? They await you if'n you are," he continued. Frodo merely stared at the hopeful face of his friend. "Well, me dear, you'll be needin' some clothes, I reckon, so we best get you dressed so as not to upset the lady folk," he chuckled. He retrieved a light shirt, vest and breeches from the wardrobe and brought them to the bedside. He slowly removed the nightshirt and pulled Frodo's arms through the sleeves. "I think you'll be right impressed with the beauty of the King's tree, sir. It's a miracle it is, at how tall that little twig has grown. Why, I'd swear by me Gaffer you could sit and watch it grow, I would. It's like some sort 'o magic at how it's spurted up into such a vision from nothin'. I didn't think it'd grow and blossom so quick like, let alone even live, it looked so fragile and dead like when I seen it the first time. But it's a sight to behold now. I planted all around it, flowers and such, bein' mindful 'course not to cramp its roots, if'n you take my meanin'," Sam prattled on in his cheerful voice as he carefully dressed his master and brushed his foot hair. Frodo wore a small smile at hearing his friend carry on, but was still unable to contribute to the one sided conversation.

Aragorn entered the room at that point and surveyed the neatly dressed gentle hobbit and his gardener. "Who amongst you would enjoy a stroll in the King's garden? He asked with a smile.

"Why, I do believe me and Mr. Frodo would be up for that, Strider," Sam bantered back to the King.

Aragorn smiled as he gently picked Frodo up and settled him on his hip. "Then I shall see if we might retain permission from the King. I have it, on good accord, that he can refuse nothing of the periannth," Aragorn replied with a chuckle. Sam giggled as they left the sick room behind and began walking from the healing house up to the Citadel. The sound of fast moving bare feet reached their ears and they turned to see Merry, and a much slower moving Pippin on crutches, hurrying to catch up to them.

"We heard Frodo *spoke* to you, Strider and had to see him for ourselves," panted Merry. His eyes raked over the frail appearance of his cousin. "Frodo," Merry gasped. His eyes quickly moved to the King. "He's so very thin, Strider," his eyes welled with tears.

"Yes Merry, it has been a horrible ordeal for all of us, Frodo's body the most, I fear," Aragorn said sadly.

"Does he not eat at all? Look at him; if you held him up to the light you could see right through him," sobbed Merry. Sam bristled at the comment. "I cannot bear to watch this despicable disease take yet another hobbit. I cannot!" Merry turned from his cousin as tears wove their way down his small face. Pippin's green eyes widened as he watched Merry, his face pale as he valiantly tried to maintain a precarious balance on his crutches. A light sheen of sweat covered his face.

Aragorn's face grew livid. He bent and placed Frodo gently on the stoop of the entrance to an abandoned home and motioned Sam over to sit with his master. He crossed to the two cousins' and grasped them, one in each arm, and carried them some twenty paces down the incline.

"You will *not* speak thus in front of Frodo. Despite what you may think, Meriadoc," (Merry winced at the use of his full name, formerly reserved for only the most dire of situations in which he was involved in some scheme gone wrong with Pippin) "we have great hopes for Frodo. He has shown much progress from what he was but a mere day or two past. He is eating, although not as much as we would like, and this walk was *his* desire. If you, one who has not only fought the Witch King of Angmar and one a troll," he turned to Pippin who, by now, had blanched of all color and was trembling violently, "Cannot be brave enough for your cousin, who gave his all to save Middle Earth, then I suggest you keep your distance. I will not allow you to undermine his progress with your air of hopelessness and negativity." Aragorn's gray eyes shown with a violent spark and his voice was husky as he tried, without success, to control the anger that seethed within him. "And take Pippin back to Saleth, it is much to early for him to be galloping about trying to keep up with you. Look at him." Pippin looked down as he swayed on his crutches, not wishing to appear weak. "*Look* at him, Master Brandybuck!" Aragorn grasped Pippin's chin gently and tilted it up. "He is weak and obviously, in pain. How could you allow him to climb even this small incline in his condition?” Aragorn fairly shouted. Merry would have crawled under any rock at that moment, had one been available. He looked at Pippin in concern as Aragorn lifted him, tenderly, and began to carry him back down the incline. Merry gave one last look at Sam and Frodo and said, "I'm sorry, Frodo. I love you, cousin." He picked up the fallen crutches and followed the King down the slope, his head down in shame.

Saleth was waiting at the doorway. After witnessing the wrath of the new King being doled out upon the periannth he had decided not to approach any closer. He had come in search of the truants and watched as the King now approached. Pippin was placed, unceremoniously, in Saleth's open arms and Aragorn turned on his heel without even a backwards glance at the chagrined Brandybuck, and strode back up the incline to resume the proposed outing. Merry's mouth opened and closed in a futile attempt at an apology as he watched the King retreat.

"Come along Master Brandybuck," said Saleth gently, feeling a profound sense of pity for the small one. Merry again dropped his head and followed Saleth dutifully, back into the Houses of Healing.

Aragorn found Frodo and Sam where he had left them and had, by sheer force of will, calmed himself, so as not to cause alarm to Frodo from the emotions rolling off of him like a wave. He gently lifted Frodo back onto his hip and, smiling down at Sam, said "Frodo *is* much better, Sam. He will recover, I feel certain of this. As long as we are hopeful and supportive he will feel it and draw strength from us." Sam's look of hopelessness drained away and was replaced with a look of determination.

"Aye, Strider, I believe that meself. I'll not let anyone say otherwise, neither," he said with conviction.

They resumed their climb to the seventh level, coming at last to the courtyard of the White Tree. Upon arriving, Frodo began to squirm and fight against the King.   
"Peace, Frodo, peace. I know your desires in this matter and will allow you to walk amongst the flowers. But you, my friend, are still much weakened from your numerous ordeals, and will only be allowed to walk a short distance. I have arranged to have a small area at the base of the tree set aside for you to rest and refresh yourself when weary. You may stay as long as you wish until, at last, fatigue totally claims you," Aragorn murmured. Frodo stilled his motions as Aragorn slowly set him down. He dug his toes into the rich loam as his eyes slowly climbed to behold the majesty of the former sapling. The tree seemed to sense the admiration being bestowed upon it and the boughs dipped slightly, though there was no wind. Frodo closed his eyes and breathed deeply of the fragrance spilling forth from the delicate white flowers, a look of ecstasy infusing his upturned face. Sam and Aragorn stood amazed as they watched the interaction between the two forms bound by love of good, clean soil.

"It's as if they know each as kindred spirits, both bein' lovers of all that‘s good in the world," murmured the adoring gardener.

"Yes, Sam. They seem to be drawing strength from each other, as if speaking a secret language just the two of them share. Not with the words so much as feelings of reverence for the soil in which they both stand," whispered Aragorn.

Frodo could feel a vibration that seemed to travel through the soil from all of the growth and beauty surrounding him, its strongest source coming from the White Tree itself. Like a vibration it entered his burrowing feet until, at last, it culminated in his very being. He opened his eyes and gazed with love at the tree above him. He took hesitant steps over to the trunk and placed his hands upon it. It was almost as if the tree were trying to impart some small portion of its life energy into the tiny being, and Frodo smiled broadly at receiving the gift. He stepped back slightly and held out his diminutive hand as four perfectly shaped white blossoms drifted down to the upturned palm. A light laugh escaped his lips and Sam's heart clenched in sudden joy at hearing the genuine, and all to infrequent, sound. Aragorn's eyes grew misty to behold the interchange and he and Sam smiled, in unison, at the effect the tree had had on the road weary traveler. Frodo's smile wavered slightly as fatigue pulled at him. He swayed with exhaustion and Aragorn and Sam reached out suddenly to keep him from collapsing.

"Enough for now, my friend. Shall we have a light meal and perhaps a rest here by the tree on the blanket?” Aragorn whispered. Frodo turned his face towards Sam and Aragorn and they saw not the icy far off look as before but true recognition. They both gasped for they knew they were witnessing their friend being returned to them, at long last.   
"Thank.... you..." came the barest, whispered response, and before Aragorn or Frodo could prepare themselves, a blur of ginger curls that was Samwise Gamgee, was hurdling himself towards his master.

"Oh, Mr. Frodo, we thought we'd lost you. But you're here with us now, and well, we missed you so and Merry was losin' hope, and Pippin, he was cryin' all the time and..." Sam blubbered as he crushed Frodo to him.

"Sam...Sam, control yourself and give Frodo some room," laughed Aragorn. Sam pulled back, but there had only been that one moment of lucidity and Frodo was gone, once again locked behind the vacant eyes. Sam felt all joy suddenly leave his heart.

"Mr. Frodo, come back to your Sam," he plead. "I know you can hear me so you come back here this instant," Sam said with a shake of Frodo's shoulders. "You can't go away, not again. Please, please come back," the gardener gasped as he broke down into helpless sobbing. Aragorn rescued Frodo from Sam's grip and sat him against the trunk of the tree. Next, he pulled Sam to him in a tight embrace and as he gently stroked Sam's soft curls, he tried to console him.

"Sam, he is getting better. Each moment lasts longer. He spoke directly to us this time. He is so close to being fully returned to us; please do not lose hope, my friend. As long as there is hope shared between us, Frodo will grow even stronger still," he crooned.

"I was jes' so sure he was finally back for good. I'm sorry for bein' such a ninnyhammer, its jes' that I miss 'em so much. It's been nigh on eight days but it feels like a month, it does, since I heard him tell me to quit my fussin' and that he weren't hungry and all the other silly things we fuss at each other about every day, and I jes' *miss* 'em so," he released a deep, watery sigh. "I would do almost anythin' to hear him jes' tell me to leave 'em alone and quit my mothering," he said with a final wipe of his eyes. "But you're right, Mr. Strider, he's better each day and it was wrong o' me ta lose hope. You must think me quite the child, bawlin' like a bairn at the drop o' the hat," he said as he looked down at his hands.

"Not at all, Sam. You have had little rest since this all began and have held up remarkably well. I too, felt a great relief when he spoke, but saw what you could not as you held him; that his eyes lost the spark of recognition as you pulled him to you. And while it saddened me greatly, he *did* speak with us without us having to trick him, like usual, and that is a cause for celebration," Aragorn smiled.

Sam smiled brightly. "You're right, sir. Weren't no tricks or nothin', he made the first move. It's a wonder, it is. This 'ere tree is a wonder," he said in awe. Frodo's eyes had become heavy lidded as he listened to the voices and felt the tree's life forces as they pulsed into his back. A small secret smile remained on his face. Sam smiled. "Well Master, you do look content you do. Like a cat that's caught the mouse, I'd say. I think a snack's the thing for us and then a rest," Sam nattered on as he sat out the contents of a basket as Aragorn watched both with a grin.

After they had eaten, Frodo preferring more the company of the tree than the food, much to Sam's concern, they rose and walked slowly about the rose bushes and other gaily colored perennials that adorned the grove. Frodo's eyes would periodically widen or a small inhalation would be heard, as he would touch a small blossom. Sam would smile proudly each time Frodo gently caressed one of his plantings knowing that, on a deeper level, Frodo *was* improving and truly enjoying the small garden spot. Eventually, however, the whole experience began to catch up with his master and he finally had to lay down on the blanket in the shade of the young tree. His blue gaze drifted upwards as he watched the sun wink in and out of the latticework of leaves. His eyes gradually drifted closed and he slept with one hand lightly touching the tree's narrow trunk. After bidding Aragorn good afternoon to attend to some of his many duties as King, Sam had settled next to his master and quickly fell asleep.

When Sam awoke it was late afternoon. He turned immediately towards his master and saw that Frodo's bright eyes were watching him, tracking his movements, unlike before. "Master?" He whispered as he reached out and took one of Frodo's pale hands in his own browned ones.

"Sam, I'm…thirsty," was the whispered response.

Sam gulped, "Oh, Mr. Frodo, o' course you are. Here let me get you a sip o' water." Sam hurriedly rummaged through the basket and, with trembling hands, produced a small earthen vessel. He closed his eyes, dreading the turn back around to see the blue eyes, once again, vacant and distant, as before. He swallowed, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart, and swiveled to face the older hobbit. A gasp of surprise escaped his lips as he saw Frodo studying him.

"Oh Sam, I was.... so...lost," Frodo murmured dreamily. He drank deeply of the cool water.

"But you're back with us now, sir," Sam cried; as he pulled Frodo to him in a tight, embrace. "I can't tell you how long I've wanted to hear you speak my name, even in anger, just to hear you speak it, or anythin', again," he sobbed.

"Never.... anger, my Sam. So...tired," Frodo murmured as his eyes slowly drifted closed.

"Course you are, me dear, course you are, you jes' rest, now. You've had a long day, you have," he pulled Frodo close to him, letting the hobbit lay back and rest his head on his lap. Sam couldn't stop the jubilant smile from lighting up his face as he tenderly stroked the chestnut curls.

"So, he returns," came a wizened voice.

"Aye, an' not soon enough for the likes o' me," Sam sighed.

"I believe, my dear gardener, that Frodo has drawn the last small strength he needed for his recovery, from this young sapling," Gandalf said as he gently caressed the pale bark. "When Aragorn and I found it growing on the rocky slopes of the foothills, I felt a power I had not felt since Isildur's reign. That tree, also, had an almost magical energy within its bark - an ability to bring hope and healing to those who were pure of heart and soul. This tree has probably descended from that noble line and we have witnessed the great curative powers it has bestowed upon our dear friend," he whispered reverently.

"Do you really think that's what's happened, Mr. Gandalf, sir?" Sam looked, awe clearly written on his tanned face.

"I do, Sam. I think our friend here," he patted the tree lovingly, "Has given Frodo the extra push he needed to come back to us. I feel the tree somehow, could sense...no, *know*, what Frodo had done for this world, and that perhaps it recognized a kindred spirit in the lad. This tree is the symbol of a new peace in this Middle Earth, as is Frodo." He held up a hand stopping Sam's argument before it left the hobbit's lips, that his Master wasn't a symbol of anything. "Frodo *is* a hero for Middle Earth. The two of them are not all that different, in that regard. It matters little; all that *does* matter is that he is better at last," he said with a chuckle. "Here Sam, let me carry him back to his room for you." He bent and gently scooped the hobbit into his robes and, with Sam at his heels, made his way back to the healing house. He turned and looked back at the White Tree, "Thank you, Lady, for hearing our supplications," he whispered.

"Aye, thank you, Lady, for bringin' 'em home to us, again," sighed Sam, tearfully.

Gandalf carefully laid the sleeping Ringbearer upon the bed. Sam thanked him with a smile, and Gandalf departed with one last look back and, with a sigh of relief, closed the door. Sam removed Frodo's clothing, folding each piece carefully as he did so. He pulled a clean nightshirt over his head and then tucked Frodo under his covers, making sure his master had the proper amount of pillows, and lastly, left an ewer of water by the bed, just in case he awoke and needed to quench his thirst. Frodo slept peacefully. No nightmares assailed him that night; no thoughts of what could have been or would be of his future or his friends; only the peaceful dreams of wafting fields of flowers and, at the center, a white tree swaying in the breeze, inviting him to rest awhile under its bowers in the deep shade.

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Merry rose early and made his way down to Frodo's room. He still felt deep remorse for his hasty comments of the day before and sought to make up for it by providing whatever his cousin needed of him. He was determined to be brave, as Aragorn had implied, and see the situation through, no matter the outcome. He swallowed thickly. He felt, in his heart, that Frodo *was* still with them and making small improvements day by day, but could not get past the image of the hobbit child that had died so long ago from the dreaded wasting disease. When he looked upon Frodo's spent body, it was as if he looked into the past and saw the hobbit lass at Brandy Hall as they had wrapped her in her burial shroud and placed her in the soil of her home. He shuddered involuntarily. The vision of the frail body of the girl had invoked nightmares for months for the small Meriadoc, and he had panicked upon seeing Frodo in his emaciated condition. As he neared Frodo's room he saw Sam approaching with a heavily laden tray. He tensed knowing he deserved the tongue-lashing he surely would receive from the gardener. But Sam only smiled and greeted him with a cheery "Good morning, Mr. Merry, and it's a fine morning indeed, sir," thus stunning the Brandybuck into, an altogether uncommon, lack of speech.

"Uh, good morning Sam. I'll take that," he said as he took the tray from Sam. "Let me feed my cousin today and you can take the morning off," he smiled tentatively.

"Well, sir, I'd prefer helping Mr. Frodo meself, if you take my meanin'. There's somethin' I need to tell you afore you go in there..." he began.

"Nonsense Sam. I am perfectly capable of feeding Frodo. You don't need to worry about a thing," he smiled as he entered Frodo's room.

"No sir, that's not what I was tryin' to tell you. Mr. Frodo he..." Sam started again.

"All in good time, Sam. I know he's getting better by the minute and you can wait and tell me about what new improvement there has been after the meal. Let's get some food in this hobbit first," Merry interrupted once again.

Sam smiled to himself, "Whatever you say, Mr. Merry," he relented, knowing that Merry would be in for a big surprise in only a matter of moments. He whispered to the lump that was his master, "Mr. Frodo, time to rise and shine, it is," and he slowly pulled the coverlet back from the burrowed form. Frodo groaned. "Now no complainin', sir. You'd sleep the day away, you would, if your Sam weren't here to pull your sleepy hide outta bed, beggin your pardon, sir," he continued as he opened the shutters and allowed the light to brighten the room. Merry smiled at the gentle cajoling that Sam used, with positive results, on his cousin. Frodo had never been a morning person, preferring to watch the stars until the wee hours of the morning to rising with the sun in anticipation of the day's first meal, like most hobbits. Frodo groaned again and then slowly rolled over. Sam helped him up into a sitting position against the headboard, as he blinked sleepily. Merry was, once again, aghast at the emaciated appearance of his cousin. He could see the bones that pressed yellow against Frodo's skin as the nightshirt slipped off of the skeletal shoulders and grimaced.

Merry forced a cheerful smile onto his face as he poured Frodo a cup of tea lacing it with a generous dollop of honey and then adding cream. "Well, cousin, I haven't been by to see you and for that I am deeply sorry. I remember all of the times you visited me when I was sick, to make sure I ate and napped in order to get better, and I was scared to see what the wasting disease was doing to you. It was selfish and cowardly and, for that, I apologize." He began to tear Frodo's scone into small, bite-sized pieces to be soaked in the tea.

"You're not selfish or cowardly, Merry. You were just frightened, is all, and *what* are you doing to my scone. Did you wash your hands, Merry? Because it's quite unappetizing to watch you fingering my food if you didn't," Frodo said.

Merry's head shot up so fast Sam could have sworn he heard the tendons snap. "What did you say, cousin?" Merry gasped.

"I said *why* are you tearing my scone into smithereens and that you weren't a coward or selfish, either, for that matter," Frodo's mouth quirked into the barest of smiles.

"You talked. You talked..." Merry whispered in amazement.

"Of course I talked you silly Brandybuck. Close your mouth, Merry, you look like a fish," Frodo chuckled.

Merry launched himself across the bed, upsetting the tray, and crushed his cousin to him. "Oh Frodo, I was sure you were going to die. I was so sure and so scared and poor Pippin has been so worried he hasn't eaten or slept...and here you are well and," he suddenly broke into huge, wracking sobs as he clutched Frodo to him, sure that he was dreaming and terrified that if he let go, he would wake up to find his cousin's condition unchanged or worse.

"There, there, Merry," Frodo murmured. "Don't carry on so. I'm going to be just fine, you'll see. And as to Pippin...not eating? This is dire, indeed. We must go to him so that he can see for himself that everything is going to be alright," Frodo said with concern. Pippin had been so sick, and to think that he hadn't been sleeping or eating, which had never occurred as far back as Frodo could remember. This caused the elder hobbit to feel sudden anguish at how his condition had affected those around him.

Merry pulled back and studied Frodo's pale face. He wiped the tears from his red eyes and looked over at Sam, who had a huge smile plastered on his face. "You knew. You knew and you didn't say a word," he growled.

"Beggin' your pardon, sir, but I tried a couple o' times ta tell ya, but you kept interruptin', so I decided to just let it be a surprise, o' sorts." Sam's smile faded from his face as he looked at Merry. "I'm right sorry, Mr. Merry, if I made you worry. I shoulda' tried harder to tell ya, and, well, I apologize, sir," Sam said, his face a bright red, as he looked down at his toes. He looked as if he was about to get a beating for stealing mushrooms from farmer Maggot and Merry couldn't help feeling regret at his sudden outburst.

"No, Sam, I owe *you* the apologies. I lost hope but you never wavered once in your care of my cousin. I am so sorry, my friends, for my behavior. And Sam, would you *please* stop calling me Mr. Merry, and sir. You are my friend and if you don't stop with the 'it's not my place' rubbish...well, I'll just have to start calling you 'Mr. Sam' and 'sir', and 'beggin' your pardon' from now on," Merry smiled. Frodo couldn't help but laugh at the thought of Sam being called 'Mr. Sam', it sounded too ludicrous.

"Mr. Merry!" Sam gasped as his eyes widened. That would be highly improper, sir."

"Well, Mr. Sam, I think you had better get used to the idea right quick, if you take my meanin', sir, because I mean what I say. You are not a servant, you are a friend, beggin' your pardon sir," Merry said, as he gave Sam a stern, unwavering look.

Frodo, by now, was giggling helplessly at Merry's impersonation of Sam. Sam and Merry looked at him and joined in at the ridiculousness of the whole situation.   
Finally, the laughter died down to the occasional chuckle, and Frodo looked up at Sam, his eyes bright with happiness. "Sam help me find a dressing gown or some clothes and let's go see Pippin."

"But Mr. Frodo, you haven't had your breakfast, sir," Sam said aghast.

"Why don't we have our first breakfast with Pip?" said Merry. "He never gets out of bed this early, so I know he hasn't eaten."

"That's a marvelous idea, Mer'. Sam, would you mind arranging to have some food brought up for four hungry hobbits?" he asked, his eyes sparkling.

"Not at all, Mr. Frodo. But what about getting you dressed sir?"

"I'll take care of that, Sam. You go fetch the food and I promise to have Frodo all ready by the time you get back," Merry said. Sam ran out to get the food as Merry began rummaging through Frodo's wardrobe for a pair of pants. He kept looking back at his cousin just to make sure he wasn't dreaming and that he really was sitting there in apparent good health.

Frodo drank his tea and looked up at Merry. "Merry, you are making me crazy looking at me every ten seconds, like that. Do I have food on my face or have I grown another nose?" he chuckled.

"I just can't believe you're better; I have to keep checking, sure that I am dreaming this whole thing," he smiled.

"It was the White Tree, Mer. When I touched it, it was as if a shock ran through my body," Frodo's face took on a distant look, and if he hadn't had the small smile that touched his lips, Merry would have thought that he had left them once again. "Words fail me trying to describe the feeling of utter and complete contentment and happiness the tree imparted to me. It was as if I was enveloped in the loving arms of my mother, and I felt warm and loved beyond what anyone could ever imagine." Frodo looked up at Merry, his blue eyes locking with brown, and Merry could see that this was very important to Frodo to try and convey the sensation that he had shared with the sapling. "It was like hearing a sweet song and as I was pulled closer and closer trying to make out the words, I became more and more aware of those around me," he shook his head as he remembered the feeling. "It was a feeling I shall never forget or be able to explain. But it brought me back, Mer'," he smiled softly. "It was wonderful."

Merry's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "And I am so glad you are back, Frodo. I don't know what I would have done if, after all that you'd been through, this horrid disease had taken you from us," he whispered. He swiped at his face and rose from the bed in a burst of sudden energy. "Well, if I don't get you dressed Mr. Sam will have my hide, he will," he laughed. Frodo chuckled anew at the title, as Merry began to pull a shirt over his head. Soon Frodo was dressed, although not as natty as Sam would have done, and ready to go on his walk down to Pippin's room. He slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed as Merry stood ready to catch him if he should stumble.

"I'm all right, Mer' just need to get used to being upright again," Frodo said as he swayed. He had had to close his eyes for a moment as the dizziness assailed him, but recovered quickly and began walking slowly towards the door.

"Humor me, Frodo. I know you can walk, but I want to help too," Merry said as he took one of Frodo's elbows and lent much needed support to the hobbit. Frodo was appalled at how weak his body had become and leaned heavily into Merry as they traversed, what seemed to Frodo a very long hallway, to see his small cousin. Black dots had begun to appear before his eyes and he worried that he wouldn't be able to complete the distance. By the time they arrived at Pippin's room, Frodo was panting harshly and his face was covered in a slick sheen of sweat. Aragorn was bent over Pippin and speaking softly to the little patient. He turned when he heard the scuffling of feet just as Frodo's legs began to give out beneath him. He crossed the room in two strides and caught Frodo up in his arms.

"Merry, Frodo is not strong enough yet to walk the distance from his room to yours. You should have called for assistance," Aragorn chastised.

"Frodo is just fine, thank you very much, and *he* was the one that insisted on walking to Pippin's room," Frodo murmured, trying, without, success to sound indignant, but being too close to fainting to pull it off.

Aragorn's face broke into a wide smile as he carried the hobbit over to Pippin and placed him on the bed. "It is good to see you recovered, my dear friend. Gandalf had told me of your speaking with Sam yesterday, but I was uncertain if you would remain aware today, so have not mentioned it to Pippin. I have been trying to rouse him without success. He has slipped into a deep depression," Aragorn's face became a mask of concern. "Perhaps if you spoke with him he would become the chatterbox he was before," he smiled, but the smile didn't touch his eyes.

"Just let me catch my breath," Frodo whispered. He turned to his small cousin after a few deep breaths. "Pippin, lad, it's time for you to wake up and have breakfast with your cousin Frodo." Pippin's eyelids twitched slightly. "Merry's going to eat all of the scones if you don't drag yourself out of bed. There's raspberry jam and rashers of bacon and eggs, and that orange juice you love so much, but I'm afraid it will all be gone if you don't open those green eyes very soon." Frodo gently ran his fingers through Pippin's unruly curls as his cousin slowly opened his eyes and peered up at him. His eyes were red-rimmed and Frodo's heart clinched once again, knowing that he had caused the pain that Pippin was feeling.

"Frodo? I'm dreaming again," Pippin said as his chest heaved in a ragged sob. "When I wake up you'll be gone, and I won't have you to talk to or be able to listen to your wonderful stories," he choked.

"No, Pippin, dear this isn't a dream and I am so sorry to have caused you such pain, my dear cousin," Frodo whispered. Pippin's eyes flew open as he pulled Frodo down to him. He sobbed softly as Frodo tried to comfort him. "Now, about that breakfast, Pip, are you interested or not because frankly, I'm starved," Frodo laughed.

"Breakfast? Where is it? Is there really orange juice? I want extra bacon and eggs, Mer'. Where's Sam?" Pippin rattled off his questions as he was slowly moved into a sitting position. Right on cue, Sam entered followed by two orderlies bearing heavy trays laden with all manner of foods. "Is that all you've brought Sam? What about seconds? There isn't enough food there to feed all of us." Pippin exclaimed as Sam set the trays down. Frodo, Aragorn and Merry broke into relieved smiles and chuckles to see the hobbit come back to himself. Although Pippin seemed like his usual self, Frodo could see that his jests were mostly an act. His face was pallid and his eyes kept losing focus as if he would collapse at any moment. Frodo pulled his cousin closer and together they began to slowly eat the mounds of food before him. Pippin held Frodo's hand tightly as if to reassure himself that he was in the here and now and that his cousin was indeed by his side. He picked at the food before him and after eating a scone and some eggs, pushed the plate away stating that he was 'stuffed'. Frodo glanced at Aragorn with concern, but the King only nodded and smiled in reassurance.

Aragorn rose. "Well, gentlemen, since you seem content and well," he looked at Frodo and Pippin and smiled. Pippin grinned impishly back, with a sparkle in his eyes that Aragorn had not seen in days. "I will leave you to attend to some of my duties," he smiled again and left the room to a round of thank youes and farewells.

He paused in the hallway as he listened to the banter and laughter that emanated from the room, then slowly walked down the hallway. He couldn't seem to stop smiling and his heart felt lighter than it had in weeks, as he walked up the incline, followed by his guards, to the Citadel. He stopped at the White Tree and gazed at its beauty. Sam was right; it did seem to grow amazingly fast. He walked over to the tree and placed his hand upon the pale trunk. He was overcome with a feeling of warmth and contentment and somehow knew that the tree was happy in its new home. He sent a silent thank you with his mind and received, in turn, a feeling of love and hope. He somehow knew that as long as the tree lived, his realm would flourish, and he felt a great joy to know that his people would survive to rebuild the damage wrought by the constant cloud of darkness that had surrounded them. He parted from the tree after inhaling deeply of the healing scent of the blossoms and walked up the stairway into the Citadel.

************************************************************************   
Epilogue--

He reclined on the chaise that had been placed purposely in the bright sunlight and drank in the scent of the flowers that surrounded his healed body. Many weeks had passed since the disease had been vanquished and Frodo had regained much of the lost weight and a rosy color had returned to the once pale complexion. He stretched languidly, not unlike a cat after a long nap. Sam worked near his side, weeding the small flowerbed. Merry and Pippin had disappeared, seeking some small source of entertainment, which would, undoubtedly, end with stern reprimands from Frodo and Aragorn and weeks of recompense from the two hobbits. Frodo smiled to himself as he listened to the birds above him in the trees.

"What are you smiling about, Mr. Frodo?" Sam said as he wiped the dirt from his hands.

"Nothing in particular, I just feel good, Sam." He looked up at his friend and was greeted with a beaming smile.

"You deserve to feel good, sir. And I don't mind sayin' it's right nice to hear you say it," he said

A small, red bird landed a few feet from the two hobbits and looked at them curiously. "Look, Mr. Frodo it's that little half starved bird that came to visit you before," Sam said in awe.

"Why I believe you're right, Sam, although how you would know this bird from any other is beyond me. Yet somehow, he does look familiar," Frodo laughed. He reached over to his tray, left over from luncheon, and retrieved half of a small roll. He held the roll in his maimed right hand and waited to see if the bird would take the proffered tidbit. The bird hopped closer, looking warily about him, then flew to Frodo's outstretched hand. He landed on Frodo's wrist and looked up into the hobbit's amazed face. He grabbed a huge portion of the roll and flew to the tree above them. "Sam, did you see that? He actually landed on me," Frodo said in wonder.

"I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it with me own eyes, sir. That was a wonder and no mistake," Sam said in a hushed voice. They looked up at the bird above them and noticed a small nest that lay precariously in the crook of a branch.

"It looks like he's found a mate and started a family," Frodo murmured. "Gondor seems to be recovering for everyone. It's a wonderful thing to behold, don't you think Sam?"

"It is indeed, Mr. Frodo. I can't tell you how grand it is to see things comin' back to themselves as they ought," Sam said with a smile as he studied his master.

"It makes me feel that perhaps, it is possible for all things to recover. It gives me hope, Sam. And some days, I feel as if hope is beyond my reach." Sam looked at his master in concern. "Perhaps the pain and nightmares of those dark days is but a test of our strength. That we are being tried to see how much we can endure," he looked up into Sam's eyes. "That the struggle is what truly makes you stronger. It gives me hope," he whispered.

Sam's eyes glistened with unshed tears. He cleared his throat and looked away, focusing on the beauty of the garden and trying not to think of the darkness that sometimes gripped his master. "It's a beautiful day, Mr. Frodo," he said cheerfully.

"No, Sam, it's a glorious day," Frodo said as he beamed up at his friend. Sam chuckled and smiled back at his master. He silently swore an oath to himself to try to make all of Frodo's days *glorious*.

The End


End file.
